


Time Waits for No One

by Shotgun_sinner



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, Kissing, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, Relationship Discussions, Season 3 AU, So much kissing, Trust Issues, Will Graham Loves Hannibal Lecter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 19:27:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29954748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shotgun_sinner/pseuds/Shotgun_sinner
Summary: After Will turns Hannibal away in Digestivo, he does not surrender to Jack.Instead, he heads to Cuba with Chiyoh, where he recovers from emotional and physical wounds.Hannibal was resolved to let Will go, and he does. Until he reads a Wedding Engagement announcement, that is.
Relationships: Brief Will Graham/Molly Foster, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 156
Kudos: 190





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KamRaeTay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KamRaeTay/gifts).



> Hello my darlings!
> 
> So this story came around because I NEEDED a confrontation between Hannibal and Molly. I needed a situation where that would happen, preferably with Will in their presence. This story is going to have ALL of that and more, because these two idiots love one another, damn it. 
> 
> I'm hesitant to share this, as I've never written solely from Hannibal's POV, yet here we are. Let me know what you think! At the moment, I have no idea how long this'll be. Only that it's going to be LONGGGG.

“I miss my dogs. I'm not going to miss you. I'm not going to find you. I'm not going to look for you. I don't want to know where you are or what you do. I don't want to think about you anymore,” Will said in a flat, dispassionate voice. 

Hannibal watched him, searching his face for any sign of deception. He was chilled to find nothing but the truth shining from Will’s words. “You delight in wickedness and then berate yourself for the delight.”

“You delight. I tolerate,” he replied, still completely unaffected. 

Hannibal barely contained the flinch from the sting of rejection. “Tolerance is a fig leaf to hide your ravenous self from the world.”

“I don't have your appetite,” Will retorted. He maintained careful eye contact when he said, “Goodbye, Hannibal.”

Hannibal sat for a moment, stunned. He had never imagined that this would be the climax to their… friendship? Tryst? He wasn’t sure what Will Graham was to him, anymore. He stood, pride warring within him to leave without allowing Will to know how hurt he was by his decision. 

This would be the last time he stood in Will’s house. He allowed himself a deep inhale, holding the scent of Will and his dogs in his lungs. He also allowed himself one last look at the man who’d consumed him since he met him. 

Will. Hannibal took in his beaten body on the bed, raking his eyes one final time over the fresh cuts on his handsome face. He didn’t blame Will for wanting him gone from his life. Cutting into his head had been a grave mistake, but regret was a useless emotion.

One could not change their past.

He left Will’s house, noting the chill of his doorknob, the slide of the glass storm door against his palm. He noted each creak of wood on Will’s porch, drawing even the dullest sensory information in and saving it in his memory palace. He saved the scent of Will’s property there, as well as the shape of his tree line marking the edges of his property.

“Chiyoh,” Hannibal called out, his voice barely more than a rumble. She emerged from the tree line, her gun by her hip. “We need to get to one of my other properties,” he said while crossing the snowy field towards her. 

She nodded, glancing away towards the house. “He went to Florence to forgive you.”

Hannibal’s throat closed up, and he followed her gaze to Will’s home. His boat on the sea. He saved the visual of Will’s white house on a bleached landscape of snow, realizing he’d never see it in the springtime or summer again. “He did,” he said softly. “As I forgave him.”

She watched him for another few moments, then glanced down the road. “I have a rental down the street. We should be going.”

With one more backward glance at Will’s home, he turned and followed Chiyoh down the driveway.

There was no time in the days that followed for Hannibal to truly digest what had occurred between he and Will. Time was of the essence, and they went to his home on the bluffs to gather his passport as well as his banking information that was tied to his alias. After that, it was a series of flights that kept him busy for two days. 

He had a fever, and he imagined that the brand on his back was becoming quite infected. His pain tolerance was high, but this exceeded his tolerance levels by a wide margin. By the time he and Chiyoh arrived in Cuba, they’d left a trail in several countries that would lead to nowhere. 

Chiyoh noticed the sweat on his brow as they dropped their bags in the foyer. “Were you injured in Verger’s estate?”

He nodded. “I’ve had no time to look at it.”

Her lips pursed, and she gestured with her finger for him to follow her to the bathroom. 

There was a pungent smell to the wound, which Hannibal knew was not good news. It had the faintly chocolate scent of rotten flesh, indicating a _Proteus_ infection, most likely. He wagered that was highly probable, given that he was branded while kneeling in a pen that had pig feces caked on the floor and walls.

He could feel Chiyoh’s stillness behind him, the slightly acidic scent of her fear for him. “You’ll need to find me antibiotics for Gram-negative bacteria,” he said softly. “Anything aside from Imipenem. Proteus are intrinsically resistant to Imipenem.”

She sighed behind him, the ghost of her breath breezing against his shoulder. “You’ll need to be more specific.”

“Ampicillin,” he said softly. “Levofloxacin might be better.”

She moved around his side to look down at him, her dark eyes holding a note of concern. “I’ll go for them now,” she said softly. “What else will I need?”

He made her a list, his hand shaking through the tremors of his fever, making his usually neat script nearly illegible. Once she was gone, he took a careful shower, ensuring his back was never towards the spray. It would be a long while before he’d be able to shower after he had her tend to his wound, and he enjoyed it as well as he could.

She arrived a few hours later, her arms full of bags. He rejoined her in the bathroom while she arranged the equipment. “I’ve sterilized the scalpel,” Hannibal told her, facing away from her again. “You’ll need to scrape the infected tissue away until the wound bleeds freely. All discoloration must be removed.”

“Take something for the pain,” she replied.

“You’ll need me conscious to walk you through,” he said, closing his eyes. “Before you begin, use the iodine to cleanse the area. When you are finished, do it again.”

She gave him no warning that she was about to begin. The icy shock of iodine dribbled down his back, stinging the wound as though a knife were entering his skin. He gritted his teeth, steeling himself while she considerately wiped the blood-red drips of iodine from his spine. “Stay as still as possible,” she whispered, steeling herself as well as him. “If you need a break, tell me.”

He nodded, and then she began.

The pain that shocked through him with each drag of the scalpel caused his muscles to twitch. His jaw clenched so tightly it felt as though his back teeth would grind to dust. She was quick with her movements, dabbing gently at the wound to clear pus and blood that poured free with each scrape of the blade against his skin. The metal basin by his side slowly filled with dirty gauze ranging in color from yellow-green to vibrant red.

He could feel her cleaning up the edges, each scrape against his back felt like she was hitting raw nerves. “It’s bleeding heavily,” she said while staunching the blood flow with sterile gauze. “It’s difficult to see, but… I don’t think there’s any more infected skin.”

“Cleanse with the iodine, then,” he said through clenched teeth. 

She did as he asked, and his vision ebbed through the fresh wave of hell it caused. “There’s… there’s too much skin missing, Hannibal. This will never heal on its own.”

“Time heals all wounds,” he replied, growing drowsy from worn-out adrenaline. “What it doesn’t heal, it takes away.”

She held clean gauze against his skin for a few minutes, waiting for the wound to clot before covering it in a Teflon gauze pad. She cleaned his back around the bandage, removing blood and iodine from his skin.

He took his antibiotic as well as a few tablets of pain medicine and slept.

The following week was hell for him. His fever dreams made sleep nearly impossible while he sweat through his infection. The wound in his back took on a life of its own. It had a heartbeat, and it inflicted misery with every breath he drew.

In his nightmares, Mason’s men did not come to interrupt. He sat with Will at that dining table, each of them served a portion of his parietal brain. He chose this section first as it deprived Will of sensory feeling, such as pain. 

He did it as a kindness.

Will’s eyes took on a hazy quality as Hannibal had struck several parts of his brain purposefully. He was peaceful. The fight and fire gone from his eyes as he sat with Hannibal in almost child-like joy. He ate his own brain, praising Hannibal for his cooking.

Hannibal ate, and in his nightmares, the flesh tasted of ash.

Hannibal sat with him even as his motor function declined. Violent tremors rocked through him, making his ocean eyes roll back into what was left of his skull. “I forgive you,” Will said almost clearly. It was the final thing he said before he died.

He’d wake, his sheets soaked in sweat and his wound pulsing from the salt of it where it stuck uncomfortably against his skin. Chiyoh went through many bandages that first week, her mouth pinched tight. She didn’t need to ask him what was wrong. 

They both knew.

He was in enough pain that it took a while to realize it did not all come from his back.

His leg throbbed, and he slid his pajama pants off his legs to take in the wound that Jack had dealt him. The hook through his calf had been healing, but with the assault on his immune system, it had apparently quickly succumbed to reinfection.

He had not noticed.

He debated the idea of feigning ignorance of it. He did not fear death, and in some respects, it was much more welcomed than his current situation.

He told Chiyoh of it eventually, and she nodded while gathering additional supplies to deal with his new infections.

It took months to heal, and even then, it was not fully. The amount of necrotic tissue she had to remove from his calf caused massive muscle loss, and he now sported an unbecoming limp. His vanity and pride forced him to overcompensate, as he never wanted to show weakness.

Once Chiyoh left him for the day and he was alone in his house, he walked as was comfortable, now. 

This was the home in which he had intended to escape with Will all those months ago. It had been fully stocked for him, and Hannibal haunted his empty room like a ghost. The house was littered with things he’d meant for Will, and they now merely represented everything he’d lost.

There was a lure-making desk in their study. _His_ study. Will’s room, never to be occupied by its owner, sat empty and filled with things that he’d never use.

Fishing rods hung on his walls, never to catch a single fish. 

He’d had a shed built in the back of their property. _His_ property. It had been meant to house Will’s motors and boat parts, but it sat unused and empty.

He could not bring himself to hobble back there to see it, yet.

His face was in every paper and news article, so he stayed confined to his house until the manhunt died down. His company was Chiyoh alone, who stopped in a few times a week to bring him groceries and check on him. He realized after a few weeks that he had not spoken aloud for almost a month.

The clinical part of him recognized that the trauma he’d been through had regressed him to mutism. Something he hadn’t done in nearly thirty-five years.

He _could_ speak. He saw no reason to.

Chiyoh still spoke to him, and he acknowledged her with his eyes and the set of his mouth. 

Freddie Lounds had posted an article some months later. She’d recorded a conversation between Will and Jack, and she shared it with the world. He listened to the recording, his eyes not on his tablet, but on the lure-desk in the corner of the room. 

_‘I can’t do this anymore,_ ’ Will’s voice said despondently. ‘ _Do you get what this has done to me? My life? Where do I even go from here, Jack_?’

‘ _So you’re giving up? He could be anywhere, Will. You’re in danger every moment that he’s not captured._ ’

‘ _He’s not going to hurt me_ ,’ Will replied vehemently. ‘ _He would have left me to die at Mason’s estate if he wanted me dead. He’d consider it… rude._ ’

There’s silence for a few minutes, and Hannibal imagined that was the end. ‘ _Who was he to you?_ ’ Jack asked.

Another pause. A weighted breath. ‘ _More than he should have been_ ,’ Will confessed. ‘ _Less than he was_.’

Hannibal could imagine the shock on Jack’s face, and he smiled in his study. ‘ _If you quit now, it’s not going to get people off your back_.’

‘ _It will eventually_ ,’ Will argued. ‘ _I need to move on. I need… to live. I can’t… I can’t exist in this limbo anymore. It feels like I’m dying, Jack. Every breath I take, I choke on regret so thick I can barely breathe through it_.’

‘ _Regret for letting him get away, or regret for not leaving with him?_ ’ Jack asked after a beat.

There was a rueful laugh, and Hannibal unconsciously leaned forward. ‘ _Yes, I believe is the answer to that. My two-week notice stands. Find someone else._ ’

There was the sound of a car door opening and closing, and the recording ended. 

Hannibal swallowed thickly, listening to it again. Then again.

He understood Will entirely. Regret had never so thoroughly choked the life from him.

He kept tabs on Will through TattleCrime and other news sources until one day, Ms. Lounds posted an article with a photo of Will’s house.

There was a new family living there. A couple with a small child. 

Will had apparently sold his home quietly, moving to who knew where. No one seemed to know where he went, and even Jack would not make comment on his abrupt disappearance.

Hannibal still checked. It was the only hobby he had, really. Day in and day out, the best he could do was Google search William Graham and hope that something new would turn up.

His health finally turned for the better, and he began making small excursions outside during the day. His muscles had waned through his illness, and he ached to use them again. It took months, but eventually he was healthy enough to swim laps in his pool and lift weights. 

His hair was long and lank, and he debated cutting it for the first time in the eighteen months that he’d been here in Cuba. Chiyoh arrived with some groceries, and he gestured to the sheers and comb on the kitchen counter. She rolled her eyes while putting away the groceries. “I should demand that you ask me,” she countered.

He glared at her and slid the scissors over, and she sighed. “I don’t know how to cut hair, but I guess that doesn’t matter. No one sees you anyway, do they?”

He sat at the island stool, shirtless. She moved around him to drag the comb through his long locks. “Short?” she asked, and he shook his head. “Longer it is.”

When she finished, he went to the downstairs bathroom to look at himself. She’d done a fine enough job. His hair was neatened at the nape of his neck, and his hair only brushed his ears. She’d left most of the length, and it was much better than it had been. 

He came back out to find her sweeping up his hair clippings, and he swallowed. “You do not need to keep coming here,” he said, speaking for the first time in almost a year. She paused sweeping, staring at him in almost-shock. “I’ve taken enough of your time, haven’t I?” 

She hesitated, glancing away from him briefly to regain her bearings. “I don’t know what else to do with my time,” she admitted softly before returning to her task. “It’s never been my own, before.”

“You owe me nothing,” he replied, his voice gravelly with disuse.

“I am not here because I feel I owe a debt,” she countered. “It may surprise you to hear, but not everyone acts out of debt or obligation. Exploitation is not at the heart of every social interaction.”

“Then what is?” he asked with a tilt of his head.

She scooped his clippings with the dustpan, shrugging her shoulders. “Friendship. Caring. Love.” He raised an eyebrow at her, and she smiled while dumping his hair into the trash. “You were a very dear friend at one time. Your aunt was the only family I ever had, and… I cared for her. I cared for all of you. I still do. It hurts me to see you like this. Is it because of him?”

Hannibal flinched, and he looked away from her. “There were very few interactions between us that weren’t underlined with manipulation.”

“Perhaps initially,” she agreed. “I imagine you started it.”

He grimaced. “I won’t get into childish games where fingers are pointed in accusation,” he deflected. “He’s betrayed me just as many times as I have betrayed him.”

“You won’t point fingers because it’s childish, but you’ll keep a tally on how many times you’ve hurt one another,” she said ruefully. 

He felt his cheeks heat, and he felt foolish in that instance. “It pains me to know that if I’d have stopped the cycle and forgave him, he’d likely be here with me. I know that, Chiyoh.”

She watched him for a few moments, biting her bottom lip between her teeth. “Would you have killed him that day?”

“Yes,” Hannibal admitted out loud for the first time. “Yes, I would have. It would have killed me eventually, but… I know I would have.”

“If I hadn’t shot him in the plaza, do you think he’d have killed you?” she asked.

The question startled him, and he rubbed at the stubble on his jaw. “I believe so, yes.”

“You did not ask him?”

He shook his head. “He meant to forgive me the way that I forgave him in Baltimore that night. An infinite cycle that would only end when we’d inevitably kill one another.”

“If he were here now, you’d try to kill him?” she asked, her voice tinged in disbelief.

The thought was repellant. “No,” he admitted, “but I’m certain that he would kill me.”

She gathered up her car keys and small purse, sliding the strap over her shoulder. “Time heals all wounds,” she said slowly, sliding her eyes carefully up to meet his own. “What it doesn’t heal, it takes away.”

“I wouldn’t know where to begin,” he replied, dropping his gaze to the tile flooring. 

“I will give you the advice that I gave him,” she replied, drawing Hannibal’s eyes up again in shock. “There are means of influence other than violence. Perhaps you’ll listen when he did not.”

“Forgiveness will not be enough,” he realized, shifting his weight off his mangled leg. “In this case, I doubt that love is enough.”

“It rarely is,” she agreed. She paused on her walk towards the door, turning to him slowly. “The man I guarded… he was not the one who killed Mischa, was he?”

His mouth fell open briefly before he carefully smoothed out his expression. “He wasn’t,” he admitted softly.

“You killed the man that did,” she stated. It was not a question, so Hannibal stayed silent. “Who was he, then?”

“He stood by while Grutas killed her,” he said lowly. “He did not help her, and his inaction made him just as guilty.”

Her shoulders slumped in relief at that, and she nodded. “Then I do not regret my time with him.”

“When did you… suspect?” he asked softly.

She turned to him, slender hand on the doorknob. “Your nakama… he merely pointed it out. He knows you, Hannibal.”

A gentle smile tugged at his mouth, and he nodded as she left his home. The pleasant feeling dissipated when he realized that it did not matter if Will knew him or not.

He was not here, and he never would be.

The following few months dragged by, and Hannibal created a routine for himself. He rose from bed, changed into shorts and a tee shirt, and lifted weights for thirty minutes. He focused on different parts of his body on different days, and then he went to shower.

He made himself a small breakfast, then went out to tend to his herb garden for an hour. From there, he’d put on his swim trunks and do laps until his leg ached too much to continue. His afternoons were spent at his piano or desk, either composing or sketching. He’d read on occasion, though he needed to take a trip to a bookstore at some point.

He’d make himself something elaborate for dinner. Something that took up time and effort and forced him to stay on his feet. He knew, logically, that his leg would never push past the pain. He pushed himself, regardless.

After dinner, with the last shreds of hope clinging tight, he’d search Will Graham.

He did so every day since he’d left, and never found anything after Will sold his house and disappeared.

On the week of the two-year anniversary since he’d last seen Will, he searched his name at the end of the night, hope long ago evaporated into habit. Shock rolled through him when he realized… that search results popped up. 

New search results.

An engagement announcement from Sugarloaf, Florida.

_‘Michael and Debra Foster of Bangor, Me., are pleased to announce the engagement of their daughter, Molly Anne Foster, to William Graham, son of the late Beau Graham._

_The bride-to-be is a graduate of the University of Maine, where she received her Bachelor of Veterinary Science. She is employed as a veterinary technologist at Cause for Paws, in Sugarloaf, Fla._

_The prospective groom is a graduate of George Washington University, where he received his Bachelor of Forensic Science. He is employed part-time at the Sunrise Marina, in Sugarloaf, Fla._

_The happy couple plan to marry in their hometown of Sugarloaf, Fla., on November twentieth of this year.’_

Hannibal raked his eyes over the photo of them. Will’s smile was wide, his pearly white teeth glinting against the unusual golden tone of his skin. His hair was longer, his curls wilder in their sun-bleached state. His hair covered the scar on his forehead, and Hannibal knew he kept it longer for that purpose alone. He was beautiful, but he’d always been beautiful.

The woman in his arms paled in comparison to him, as everyone did. She was… plain. In description, she’d sound lovely. Blonde hair and blue eyes, high cheekbones and a warm smile. Her hair was fried from the bleaching, though. Her eyes weren’t fathomless blue as Will’s were. Her cheeks rounded like a chipmunk, and Hannibal hated her with every fiber of his being.

This was… risky of her parents. He grinned, sitting back in his desk chair.

He knew where Will lived. Their wedding was scheduled for less than six months from now.

He could go there. Give Will one more chance to change his mind. There were means of influence other than violence, but violence was an old friend.

Perhaps it was time he took a vacation.


	2. Chapter 2

It struck Hannibal during the flight to Florida just how close Will Graham was to him. The Florida Keys were barely one hundred miles off the coast of Cuba. At the most, one hundred and ten miles from where he resided in Miramar. Only a sliver of ocean separated them, and now, barely that.

Sugarloaf Key was a smaller island, but all the Keys were connected via bridge to the mainland. He’d never come this far south in the states, and the heat here was exactly as it was in Cuba. He’d dyed his hair dark brown to come, and he strolled through the streets easily. No one gave him a second look, and he smiled to himself while climbing into his rental car.

Finding Sunrise Marina was easy. It was the largest marina on the island, and it was also where most people took their boats for repair, as they had a full-service repair shop on the docks. He strolled down the dock, avoiding limping at all costs, while the sun set behind him.

Will was not here today. Or so it seemed. He watched the marina for another two days, as the engagement announcement did list his work as part-time. 

Hannibal sipped a Dalgona at the café on the dock, white fedora and sunglasses carefully in place. 

“You’ll have to tell him that there’s nothing I can do,” he heard a familiar voice say off-handedly from behind him. “He’s had the boat for five years and never changed the oil. The engine is shit, and it needs to be replaced. There’s no fixing the mess he’s made of it.”

“He’s not gonna want to hear that,” the man sighed. 

Hannibal turned discretely, taking Will in for the first time in two years.

He stood at the dock, facing the setting sun. His skin glistened with sweat, golden, and healthy against the stained white tee shirt he was wearing. His curls were lighter than the photo even made them look, ringlets of spun gold that caught the light and the wind, stirring them at his temples.

One of his hands came up to swipe the sweat from his neck, and Hannibal licked his lips involuntarily. “Not my problem,” Will sighed. “Either way, it’s not getting done today. I’ll be back tomorrow morning, though.”

The other man nodded, and Will set off down the dock towards the parking lot.

Hannibal set his coffee aside and followed Will at a distance.

He had made sure his rental was as mundane as possible. A Toyota, of all things. Nothing that would alert Will to his presence. He climbed into the stifling hot car and started it, pulling out of the lot at a measured distance from Will’s own beat-up Volkswagen. 

He watched Will pull into a driveway barely a ten-minute drive away from his work, and Hannibal drove past without slowing down.

The following morning, he watched Will leave the house at seven, waiting a few minutes before he climbed from his car and crept towards the home. He hadn’t seen any signs of life aside from Will, but he couldn’t be sure. Perhaps Will and the future mistake did not live together? Curious.

After a cursory stroll around the side of the house where he casually looked into his windows, he deemed that Will did not live with her. The house was silent aside from the timid barks of his dogs, and he picked the lock on the back door, entering his home for the first time.

Will’s pack remembered him, as they were happy and wagging their tails at the sight of him. He pet them all, grimacing as he counted only six. He pet them, mentally tracking which one was missing. Max, Buster, Winston, Jack, Harley, Zoe… he glanced around, looking for Will’s eldest.

Gone. Something had happened to Ellie, clearly. His heart panged for Will, and he pet the others to make up for it. 

The AC was kept cooler than Hannibal cared for, but Will always kept his home cooler than Hannibal did. Even in Wolf Trap, his home was sometimes very frigid. He’d always assumed that was because the old house was poorly heated, but seeing as how he kept this house like a refrigerator, he was thinking it was personal preference.

This home was far nicer than his little retreat in Virginia. Gray tile floors throughout, the house painted an even lighter shade of gray. The kitchen was updated and lovely, white upper cabinets and navy-blue lowers. White quartz counters gleamed with streaks of grey throughout, tying in the stainless-steel appliances perfectly.

There was a French press drying in the dry rack on the side of the sink, functional and something that served its purpose. A mug beside it that said ‘One Great Fisherman’ on it with the outline of a fisherman and a fishing rod’s silhouette. The line of the rod dropped off the edge of the mug, seemingly going nowhere. It was a curious mug, so Hannibal opened his cabinets, and he found its companion. 

The rest of the line was printed onto the other, a fishhook speared with an ugly red heart. ‘Best Catch of His Life!’ was printed in loopy cursive on it, and he fought the urge to throw it at the wall. He set it back into the cabinet, gritting his teeth to dust instead. 

Other than the French press, the only small appliances were a well-used toaster and a small microwave. The toaster had a package of English muffins beside it, half empty. The inside of his fridge was dismal. Butter, strawberry and apricot jam, a small container of milk. There were a few condiments as well as a take-out container of Chinese. His freezer was marginally better, as it had a few frozen pizzas and burgers, a sleeve of Eggo waffles and a few chicken breasts. There were shrink wrapped fish, gutted and scaled, stacked on the rack of the top shelf. At least he occasionally ate something that wasn’t made in a factory. 

His sense of décor had not improved. There was a dark gray couch, lumpy and too large for the living area. His bookcases were pine wood, strikingly different than anything else in the house, but functional. No television, no radio. His coffee table was littered with greasy tools and motor parts, the pine wood of it scuffed beyond saving.

His heart panged when he noticed the lure-making desk in the corner of the room closest to the window. His lures were bigger, more beautiful than the ones he made in Wolf Trap. Deep sea fishing, he realized. His Will must have a boat. He touched the feathers of the lure that sat on the pin, appreciating the fine work that his beloved did with reverent fingers. The drawers of the desk were full of hooks and feathers, pieces of twigs and brown jelly worms. There were silver plastic fish that he knew would catch the light in the water, luring in big fish with their dazzling flash. 

The hall that led to the two bedrooms had mounts on the walls for all of his fishing rods. His smaller ones from Wolf Trap were here, but beside them were much larger ones that had steel reels. He touched them absently, noting they were all clean and free from dried salt. Will took care of his things, and he smiled while wandering to the open door at the end of the hall.

His bedroom consisted of a queen-sized bed that likely came with the house, as Hannibal could not imagine Will choosing a bedframe that had pineapples on the bedposts. He chuckled while touching the comforter, breathing in the musky scent of Will in the room. There was a faint smell that didn’t belong to Will there. Something almost floral. He scented the pillow on the left, and his eyes rolled back at the scent of mint and Will’s salty sweat.

The pillow on the right smelled of Will mostly, but there was something else there, too. Rose and hibiscus. She slept here, sometimes. Hannibal gritted his teeth, but tried to placate himself. She couldn’t have slept here very often for her scent to be this faded. 

There were a few condoms in the drawers of the nightstand by the bed. He moved around to the other nightstand and found a tablet. He grinned, taking the device from the drawer to see what Will’s search history looked like.

There were pages and pages open for different motor parts he ordered, likely for work. Lost inside of that endless mess were occasional visits to TattleCrime. Curious. Was Will searching for him, too?

He sat on the edge of the bed, scrolling through his search history. One week ago, Will searched ‘Hannibal Lecter sightings,’ and ‘Chesapeake Ripper’. Hannibal’s pride swelled inside of him, and he looked at the results with mild interest. There were apparently a few sightings of him in Portugal, which made him chuckle. There were a few pages of results from Baltimore, but he didn’t bother clicking on those. Will was still looking for him. He exited out of his history and set the tablet back in the desk. 

There were no photos anywhere. The only personal possessions being books and a few other trinkets that he recognized from Wolf Trap. The only curtains in the entire house were on windows that faced east and west, likely to keep the sun from heating the house.

The second bedroom was arranged with a twin bed, which made Hannibal frown. He smelled… a child, here. There was a desk against one wall with a few pencils and crayons, a neat stack of coloring books.

His fiancée had a child. One grown enough that he could step in and rescue them. A flare of jealousy burned through him. Will had replaced Hannibal and Abigail with generic nobodies. He flipped through the coloring book to ascertain an age, and he frowned at how well the child colored in the lines. The finished pages had a signature on them, ‘Walt.’ A little boy, then. Likely older than ten, judging by how he colored. He flicked his eyes back to the bed, taking in the Star Wars bedsheets and green comforter. 

A little boy that Will could raise and take care of. His beloved always liked taking in strays.

His bathroom was clean and neat. His medicine cabinet had the basics you’d find in one. Band-Aids, Neosporin, a half-empty bottle of Aspirin. There were Q-tips and rubbing alcohol, as well as hydrogen peroxide. A stick of deodorant that boasted it was for ‘stress sweat’, whatever that meant.

In the drawer by the sink was Will’s toothbrush and toothpaste, a few tools for grooming his stubble. No aftershave or cologne. Hannibal inhaled gently, searching for the acrid scent of it, but it was missing entirely. He must not use it, here. The pantry had extra toilet paper and towels that smelled clean and fresh, a few boxes of Will’s preferred Irish Spring soap. He looked in the shower and noted that Will did use the same shampoo, Redken Brew’s Mint. It was the most expensive thing that Will used for grooming, and Hannibal adored it entirely. 

Even Will knew to use the best on his lovely curls. He took the bottle and opened the cap, inhaling the clean scent of Will’s hair directly from the bottle. Someday soon, he’d know this scent in his own bathroom. He knew it.

He left Will’s home after snooping through his things. Leaving the house felt like Hannibal was taking a piece of himself out and leaving it behind. He had to leave, though. He still did not know where Molly lived. 

Finding Cause for Paws was simple once he used his burner phone to find it with GPS. It was a shelter and an animal hospital combined. He sat with the AC running for the better part of the day, and then he saw her.

Molly. She came out of the building around two-thirty, dressed in navy blue scrubs. Her hair was a fried knot on her head, her skin remarkably pale despite living in Florida. She was a tiny thing, delicately sweet in her oversized scrubs. Her purse was gawdy, some kind of brown snakeskin that was overly large and had gold clasps that caught the bright sunlight.

She likely worked an early shift so she could go pick up her brat from school. He followed her red Honda, and sure enough, she pulled over by an elementary school where a young boy with dark hair climbed into the backseat. 

He followed her back to her own house, which was barely a ten-minute drive away from the school. Now that he knew where she lived, he could continue his day in peace.

He went for a late lunch, then returned to his motel room. It was a dingy thing, but he knew that if anyone were looking for him, it would be the last place they’d think to look. 

He watched the sunset from his window, debating just whom would have the pleasure of his company, first. 

Molly. Molly would get to see him, first.

He drove to her house, parking just outside her neighborhood just after the sun set. Will’s car sat in her driveway too, and scorching jealousy made him reckless.

He approached the side of the house, peering into the dirty windows to see the living area. Will paced the room, tugging at his curls. “It’s _serious_ , Molly!”

“Why?” she asked, walking back and forth between the stove and the counter while making a sub-par dinner that stank even through the glass window. “Who _cares_ , Will?”

“For Jack to call me, it’s serious,” Will replied. “Why would your parents do something like this? Have you told them about… about my past?”

“Walt, go to your room, please,” she said, dismissing the interested child from where he sat at the island, pretending to do his homework.

“But Mom,” he argued.

“Don’t,” she said sternly. “Give the adults ten minutes, okay? Please?” The boy sulked while leaving the room, and she turned back to Will. “I thought you said he would never hurt you?”

Will rested his elbows on the island, scrubbing a hand against the scruff on his jawline. “He’d never hurt me,” Will replied so lowly that Hannibal could hardly hear him. “He’ll have no compunction about hurting you.”

“ _Why_?” she asked, panic rising in her voice. “Why would he hurt me?”

Will’s shoulders shook as though his confession would tear him to pieces. “He’ll see this as a betrayal,” Will said softly. “He will not allow me to have anyone in my life that isn’t him. I… I turned him away, and for that, I’m allowed to live in solitude. He’ll… he won’t allow this.”

Molly watched him silently for a few minutes while Hannibal beamed in pride. Will knew him far better than anyone else did, even after all this time. “Tell me the truth,” she said lowly, glancing towards the door that the child disappeared behind. “Who was he to you?”

“I’ve told you this already,” Will sighed.

“You told me he was… your therapist and your friend first,” she argued. “Then he was your enemy and your target with Jack. What else? Why would he give a shit that you’re getting married?”

“Because…” Will paced by the counters, tugging at his wild curls. “Because I am _his_ , Molly. I sent him away, but it doesn’t change anything. He’ll always see me as… as his.”

“Is he in _love_ with you?” she asked in disbelief.

Hannibal’s heart panged in his chest, and he watched in shock as Will reached up and gripped his own chest as though he felt it somehow. “Yes,” he said eventually, rubbing the left side of his chest with two fingertips. “And your parents not only posted an article with where we live, but also where we work. What the hell were they _thinking_?”

Molly shifted her feet, glancing away from Will carefully. “I never told them, Will. You’re not in the witness protection unit. Were you lovers?”

Will huffed a laugh, but even Hannibal knew it was a forced sound. “No, Molly. Never.”

“Were you in love with him, too?” Molly asked, turning her head to watch Will’s reaction. Will hesitated, and Hannibal watched his Adam’s apple bob nervously. 

“I _was_ ,” he said softly, glancing away from her pointedly. “Before… before he framed me. Before I knew _what_ I was to him.”

She seemed to need a minute after that, and Hannibal found himself in agreement. Will had loved him, all those years ago. It settled like ice in his stomach, numbing his insides even though it was almost ninety outside. He knew Will had trusted him when they first met. Those few months where Will came to him before anyone else were treasured memories in his mind palace. 

He had never realized that Will turned to him because… because he loved him.

It would have changed everything. It might have changed nothing at all.

He forced himself to look back into her home, and Molly’s face still rested in her hands on the countertop. “Do you still…?”

“I love _you_ ,” Will said immediately, and she huffed a watery laugh in response. 

“Not what I’m asking you,” she replied, swiping at what Hannibal imagined must be tears on her face. 

“ _Molly_ ,” Will breathed. “Please.”

“You told me that you were nothing to him,” she said vehemently. “That he… _did_ that. He molded people into what he wanted them to be. That you were just one of dozens, easily replaceable.”

“Sometimes I think that’s true,” Will agreed. “Sometimes I believe there was no way I meant a single thing to him. Sometimes I think he must have loved me, even a little bit. The fact that I’m still breathing is a good affirmation of that.”

She moved around the counter, her undeserving fingers swiping at the curls on his forehead to trail along the silver scar there. “He would have eaten you, Will. You breathe because he was _interrupted_.”

“Like I said,” Will sighed. “I have no idea, really. I do know that he won’t like this, Molly. He won’t.”

“He’s likely half-way around the world, honey,” she said soothingly. “You were… a distraction for him. He hasn’t reached out to you for two years. I doubt he’ll start now.”

“If I posted an article that I was still alone and miserable, he would leave me alone,” Will said brokenly. “This… you have to believe me, Molly. This is not something he’ll let go.”

“Wally,” she called out, dismissing Will entirely. “Come on baby. Time for dinner.”

Will’s mouth fell open at being so casually disregarded, and he took a few paces to put some distance between them. 

Hannibal had seen quite enough. His heart sat in ruins inside of his chest, and he considered himself while walking back to his car in the inky darkness. The thought of Will being as alone and miserable as he himself was held no appeal whatsoever.

The thought of him marrying someone else was equally repugnant.

It was time they had a talk. A real one. Metaphors and teacups set aside.

Molly would be first, though.

It took three days for the opportunity to come. She worked the weekend, and Will watched the child while she was gone for the day. He suffered Will sleeping over on Saturday night, and he clenched his fists until his fingernails pierced his skin when he heard them making love from outside their bedroom window.

A few things placated him about the encounter. Will never called her name. Not once. They also stopped before things escalated because Will needed to find a condom, and Hannibal knew it was because Will would never risk the chance of a child coming into existence. The entirety of their sexual encounter lasted barely ten minutes, each settling out on their own side of the bed once they were done. There was no intimacy, there. No cuddling, no words of devotion. He fucked her, then he fell asleep comfortably on his own side of the bed. 

While it placated him, he still wanted to slit her open from neck to groin.

His opportunity came on Monday when she brought Wally to school, and then headed back home. A comp day for working the weekend, it seemed.

He went to the docks to make sure that Will’s car was there before returning to her.

By the time he let himself in through her back door, it was barely nine in the morning.

He could hear her in the garage, starting a load of laundry. Pressing himself against the wall by the garage door, he waited for her to come back into the house.

She had no sense of her surroundings, and it took barely a few moments of struggle to get her unconscious. Her neck felt unbelievably fragile under his arm, and he fought the urge to break it.

Once she was unconscious, he tied her up on the bed that she’d fucked Will in, using ties that she’d never be able to break free from on her own. He straightened up her clothes, as her abdomen was exposed, and he truly did not want to see it.

It was barely fifteen minutes later, and she groaned while coming back to consciousness.

Her eyes snapped open, and he watched her chest rise and fall rapidly while her pupils dilated in fear. “Good morning, Ms. Foster.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” she gasped, struggling against the ropes pathetically. “Oh, fuck.”

“Language,” he said, glaring down at her pointedly. Disgusting thing. He considered taking her tongue for it.

He watched her come to terms with her situation, and he realized she may have some intelligence in her after all. “Good morning, Dr. Lecter,” she replied, though her voice wobbled in fear.

The scent of it was acrid in the room, her panicked sweat stinging his nostrils. He crossed his leg, resting his mangled one over his good one. “I would say it’s nice to finally meet you, but… I’m afraid it would not ring with any truth.”

“Likewise,” she agreed, swallowing thickly. He laughed, tilting his head down at her in amusement. “Do whatever you want to me, but _please_. Please don’t hurt my baby. My son. _Please_.”

Hannibal shifted against the side of the bed, glaring down at her in displeasure. “I would never hurt a child,” he replied with disgust. 

“You killed Abigail,” she blurted out, and Hannibal watched the vibrant flush creep up her face. 

“She was an adult,” Hannibal countered. “One who was more than aware of who she was, and what I was capable of doing. I will not hurt your son, Molly. You have my word.”

“Promise me,” she said softly. She tilted her head towards him, still struggling against her bonds in little tugs and pulls. “Will said you always kept your promises.”

He smiled. “I promise, then.”

Her head dropped back to the mattress with that. “Please make sure he doesn’t see… whatever you’re about to do to me. Shield him from that.”

Hannibal felt a little swell of pride for her. Brave thing. “I assure you that he will not see a thing.”

“May I ask you some questions, if this is going to be the end?” she asked. Her voice was still wobbling, and her bottom lip trembled. He was still impressed with her politeness regardless. Will must have told her that rudeness was unforgiveable to him, and she was catering to him. Smart of her. 

“Anything,” he promised. To keep their situation clear to her, he took the scalpel from his pocket and uncapped it. She whimpered at the sight of it, her wrists vibrant red where they struggled against the ropes he’d used. 

She closed her eyes for a minute, and he watched tears pour free from their corners, sliding into her dark roots. “This is… this is because of Will.”

“That is not a question,” he countered.

She licked her lips, fighting herself to remain calm. “Who is Will to you?”

He tilted his head, smiling softly. “He is my other half. My paramour.”

“You put him in prison,” she countered with a sharp glare. “Why?”

Hannibal sighed, shifting his aching leg until it hurt less. “I had no idea what he meant to me at the time. I enjoy manipulating people to my advantage. Will presented with an unusual set of circumstances that were… too enticing to ignore.”

“Encephalitis and an empathy disorder,” she realized. 

He nodded his head in agreement, looking towards the nightstand where a photo of she and Will sat. Wally rested on Will’s knee, his arm around the child’s waist while he and Molly shared a chaste kiss. Hannibal took the photo from the table and shattered it against the wall. She jumped at the sound, her spine arching from the bed as a whimper tore from her throat. “I have made grave mistakes when it comes to Will,” he confessed to her. “The first was assuming that he meant no more to me than any other that I had… persuaded.”

“You love him?” she asked. Her blue eyes watched him warily, and he nodded. 

“More than anything else in this world,” he agreed. “When he got out from prison, he was quite different. It was almost difficult for me to keep a lid on his murderous impulses, and he’d never been more beautiful. He killed Randall Tier with his bare hands. Disassembled his body for a tableau that impressed me immensely, given it was his first.”

“You’re _lying_ ,” she spat. 

“Oh Molly,” he laughed, tilting his head down at her. “I assure you; I am not. He cut Randall’s head from his body and removed his jaw. Placed the rest of his head over the skeleton of a cave bear in a museum. Arms, legs, hands, feet. All removed by Will’s hands.”

“Lying,” she cried. Her tears were coming in earnest, now. He knew that Will would never have told her the whole truth of what he’d done, and it was only fair that she was enlightened.

“He brought me a slab of his flesh one night,” Hannibal smiled. “He had insinuated that the flesh belonged to Freddie Lounds, but I’ve come to realize we were eating Randall. We cooked him together. _Lomo Saltado_. An intimate evening together, cooking Randall’s flesh. Taking him inside of our bodies for nourishment.”

Her sobs were getting overly loud, and he shushed her in warning. Her chest quaked to keep the noises low, and she dragged her face against the pillow to clear the tears from her cheek. “It was probably a pork loin,” she said, sniffling her snot back up her nose.

He laughed, shaking his head. “Allow me to assure you that I know the difference between pig and long pig.”

“Long pig?” she repeated, her eyebrows drawn together.

“Will’s description,” Hannibal grinned. “It’s a translation from the Pacific Islands, where they would partake in cannibalism quite regularly.”

“He cooked and ate someone with you,” she realized. “Knowing _exactly_ what he was cooking and eating.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “I assumed he had never told you of that. It certainly doesn’t paint him in the best light. Will has always wanted to be seen as good and morally uncompromised. He hides the darkness in him the best that he can, but I’ve always seen it plainly. I can assure you, he’s not who you think he is.”

“I could say the same thing to you,” she snapped. “He was luring you in, then. Or don’t you realize that?”

Hannibal felt the blade of betrayal in his heart as though it had only just happened. The smile fell from his face, and he turned away from her. “I do realize that.”

“What he was doing then is not who he is,” she argued. “He’s a kind man who loves his dogs and being outdoors. He loves Wally and me, and he loves the ocean. He is not a killer, Dr. Lecter. He’ll never forgive you for this.”

“He’ll never forgive me anyway,” Hannibal replied. “He followed me to Europe all those years ago, and I still am not sure why. To kill me? To be with me?”

“To have his head cut open by you?” she countered. His fingers gripped the scalpel tighter, and she hiccupped. 

“I should not have done that,” he sighed. “I’ve regretted it every moment since. My memories of Will are tinged and dirtied by the remorse I feel about what I’ve done to him. He loved me, and I… I didn’t know until it was too late.”

“He loved you before he knew what you were,” she replied. “Do you really think he would have accepted you once he knew?”

“Yes,” he said immediately, startling her to silence. “You did not know him, then. He came to me for everything. He was usually the last person I spoke to at night, and a few times the very first person I saw in the morning. He wove his way into my life so subtly that I did not even realize… I had no idea.”

“That you loved him,” she said, fresh tears falling from her eyes. “You hurt him because… because you felt betrayed by him.”

He nodded, glancing away from her carefully. “After leaving Muskrat Farm, I carried him back to his home in Wolf Trap. I dressed him and tended to his wounds, waiting for him to wake up. Our love is volatile. We exchange blows instead of affection, but there is no mistake. It is love all the same. I’d like to ask you a few questions, now. Quid pro quo.”

She laughed, and it was a broken sound. “Not like I’m in any position to refuse.”

“How did you meet my Will?” he asked.

She flinched at his wording, and she turned her head towards him. She seemed to finally see him as her swollen, tear-stained, eyes traveled his face, then his body. She looked thoughtful, as if trying to understand what Will might have seen in him. “One of his dogs was diagnosed with cancer,” she said softly. “About a year ago, now. He brought her into my work once a week for treatment, but… she passed. I got to know him over that time.”

“Ellie?” Hannibal wondered. She was his oldest dog. A good girl with bad hips. She was the only one missing from Will’s house when he entered a few days before.

Her mouth fell open as though she couldn’t believe he’d know Will’s dogs by name. “Yeah,” she said eventually. “Ellie.”

“Poor girl,” he lamented. “I’d watch his pack while he was away on cases. Her hips always bothered her in the cold.”

“Did you actually care?” she snarked.

He gripped the blade in his fingers a little tighter, turning a glare down on her. “I did,” he replied bitterly. “I do. Where is the child’s father?” he asked.

Molly’s face tightened, and she looked away from him again. “Tom… my first husband. He… he passed. Five years ago, he died in a car accident in Maine. That’s all you get to know about him.”

A subject that was clearly too fresh to even speak about. Hannibal hummed, realizing that Will had not taken in only one stray. There were two broken people living in this house. Something his beloved would not be able to leave suffering. 

He watched her bruised throat constrict with a swallow, and her icy eyes settled back on him again. “He told me that you… that the two of you were never… _intimate_.”

He considered that, jealousy and anger warring for dominance. “I imagine you mean sex,” he said eventually. Her eyebrows furrowed, and she nodded hesitantly. “In my experience, sex and intimacy have nothing to do with one another. I was intimate with Will in ways that I’ve never been intimate with another person, yet we’ve never so much as shared a kiss.”

She snorted, tipping her face away from him. “So not in any way that _matters_.”

Her jaw was between his fingers before he could realize that he was touching her, and he tugged her face until she was looking at him again. “Carnal pleasures do not amount to intimacy, Molly. He can fuck you for the rest of his life yet share _none_ of himself at the same time. Do not think that because I do not know his _flesh_ that I do not know him. Tell me, does he ever call your name when you’re fucking? Does he ever look into your eyes, ensuring that you know it is you that he’s imagining in his mind? Does he ever hold you close when the act is finished, whispering sweet nothings into your undeserving ears?”

She whimpered, and he knew he had struck a sore spot. “He doesn’t make eye contact with _anyone_. He doesn’t… He doesn’t share himself like that, Dr. Lecter.”

“Perhaps not with _you_ ,” he replied, and he knew his bitterness was seeping into his tone. “I pity you for believing a fuck amounts to an intimate moment. How very _dull_ of you.”

“All I’m hearing when you speak,” she spat, glaring up at him defiantly. “ _All_ I’m hearing, Dr. Lecter, is that you _wish_ you knew him in that way. You wish you did, but you _don’t_. I know what he _tastes_ like. I know what he _smells_ like. I know the little shiver he makes after he comes, and you… you’ll _never_ know it. I feel _pity_ for you, Hannibal. It must be horrible to be in love with a man that loves women.”

He pressed the blade to her throat, and she sobbed while doing her best to get away from him. It would be so very simple to kill her, yet… Will would never forgive him. Regardless of how she taunted him. “I may want it,” he agreed, twirling the blade until it was the dull side pressing against her skin. A small bead of blood escaped her skin, and he thrilled at the sight. “But I do not need it. His company is all I need. I believe it’s all he needs of me, as well.”

“He told you he was done with you,” she said softly. “You’ve left him alone all this time. He was… so lonely. He finally found a sliver of happiness, and you won’t even let him have it?”

He sat by her hip, fighting the desire to cut into her with his scalpel. The room smelled of Will and his sweat combined with her artificial flower scent. “I may yet let him have it,” he said, just as softly. “He and I have to talk, first.”

“Then it was stupid of you to do this,” she blurted. “If you think for one fucking second that I’m not calling the police the moment you let me go, you’re wrong. If you think that he’ll talk to you knowing that you’ve killed me, you’re also wrong. You’ve put yourself in a precarious position, Dr. Lecter.”

He smiled down at her, but it was in warning. “You’ll not call the police,” he chuckled. “I have a great many recipes that call for veal, and your son would be far more than perfect in them. Do not push me, Molly.”

She sobbed and shook her head violently. “ _Don’t_ ,” she pleaded. “Don’t. I swear. I _swear_ I won’t say a word.”

“No,” he agreed. “You will not. How did Will propose to you?”

Fresh tears leaked from her eyes, and he tilted his head while waiting for an answer. “He… he didn’t,” she sobbed. “He and I were talking one night, and… I suggested it. I thought it made sense, you know? He agreed with me.”

A weight was lifted from his chest, and he smiled hesitantly. Will did not get down on one knee and beg her to marry him because he loved her. It was a decision they came to after she suggested it. Like a _business_ deal. He smiled wider, and she looked devastated by it. “He _loves_ me,” she argued miserably. “It changes nothing.”

He picked up her phone, using her damp finger to unlock the device. It only took a moment to scroll through her contacts and find Will’s. 

‘ _Need you to come over, please. Urgent._ ’ He texted.

The phone promptly rang, Will’s face lighting up the screen. “You’ll tell him that you think I was in the house,” he told her carefully. “One wrong word and I will kill you.”

She nodded, and he swiped the answer button. “Will,” she said through a sob.

“Molly?” he said, and he sounded winded from running, likely. “What’s wrong? Are you safe? Wally?”

“I think he was in my house,” she said, fresh tears falling and soaking into her pillow. “I… I don’t feel safe.”

“Is he still there?” Will asked, and he heard the sound of a car door slamming. 

“No,” she cried. 

“Be there in five,” Will said. “Talk to me, Molly. Why do you think he was there? Did you call the police?”

“No,” she repeated. “I don’t… I don’t want to sound crazy. I might be wrong.”

He pressed the dull edge of the scalpel to her abdomen, and she whined. “Is he there, Molly?” Will asked lowly.

“N-no,” she gasped. “Will, no.”

There was silence on the line for a few seconds, and Hannibal leaned into the receiver to hear his breath. “If you hurt her, I _will_ kill you.”

He smiled, biting his lip to keep from speaking. “Will, he’s not here. I am… I am freaking out. It’s fine.”

There was the sound of a car door slamming, and then the front door slamming, and Hannibal stood from the bed as he came around the corner. Will’s wrist dropped the phone by his hip, his breathing erratic as his eyes swept over Hannibal’s form from head to toe. They stared at one another for a long moment, the few feet between them feeling more like a chasm. “Will,” he said softly.


	3. Chapter 3

They stared at one another for a long moment, the few feet between them feeling more like a chasm. “Will,” he said softly.

Will seemed to come back to himself, and he turned from Hannibal to take in Molly on the bed. “Are you okay, Mol?” he asked softly.

“Y-yeah,” she assured him weakly. “Just having a chat with your friend.”

Will swallowed, turning a hard glare back on Hannibal. “Don’t hurt her, please.”

“As of right this moment, I have no desire to,” he replied. “You look well, Will.”

“Your hair color is ridiculous,” Will retorted. 

Hannibal laughed, reaching up absently to touch his darkened strands. “Not my ideal choice either, but… a necessity given the circumstances.”

“Why are you here?” Will asked stepping cautiously into the threshold of the bedroom door. “I told you I didn’t want to see you again.”

“I thought you might appreciate a visit before your wedding day,” Hannibal replied. Will flinched as though he’d been struck, and Hannibal continued. “I thought of it, though. Showing up and declaring myself before the vows were exchanged.”

“Declaring yourself?” Will asked, crossing his arms defensively. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Hannibal grimaced, glancing down to Molly’s prone form on the bed. She looked hopeful for herself, and Hannibal wanted to dash that hope against the rocks as violently as his own had been. “Did you love me all those years ago?” he asked, dragging his eyes back towards Will’s golden face.

Will looked struck, and he swallowed again. “You came here to ask me about love? You’re joking.”

“Answer me, Will,” he demanded softly.

“Anything I felt for you has long since dried up,” Will retorted bitterly. “You’ve hurt me more than… more than anyone could hurt another person. You’re _still_ hurting me.” His eyes dropped to Molly again, and Hannibal winced.

“I’ve never been in love,” Hannibal said off-handedly. “Not once in all my life. I loved my sister, but… I don’t need to explain how different it feels, compared to romantic love. It took a very long time for me to realize that I loved you, Will. By the time I did, you were in prison, and it was too late to take what I had done to you back. When you were released, you were so very different than the man that I knew. Violent. Volatile. In some ways, you were even more perfect for me. I loved you then, too. I thought… you’d forgiven me. I thought we’d reached an understanding. You… betrayed me, Will.”

“You betrayed me, first,” Will snapped. “You want to talk to me about _love_ , Hannibal? I trusted you completely. I adored you for being my lighthouse in an endless storm. Do you know what it was like under Chilton’s care, surrounded by mentally ill patients with my gift? It was _torture_. I _loved_ you, you shithead. You tore me apart and put me together the way you wanted me. The way you _preferred_ me. Mindless and worshipful just like all the others.”

“No,” Hannibal said vehemently. “You were and still are nothing like any of them, Will.”

“Do you realize…” Will sighed, swiping at a stray tear that leaked from his eyes. “That night in Baltimore, I went to you because I wanted to leave with you?”

Shock rocked Hannibal’s very foundations. He stood in the bedroom while his stomach churned acid. “You… you sent Jack to me.”

“No,” Will blurted fiercely. “Jack called me, Hannibal. I had never given him anything on you in our little sting operation, and the FBI was shutting it down. Jack made a last-ditch effort to get you, and I called to warn you. When I showed up, it was to leave with you. You gutted me before I had a chance to even say so.” 

“Will,” Hannibal rasped, swiping a hand across his mouth. “I didn’t know.”

“Didn’t ask either,” Will spat. “You killed Abigail. Left me to bleed out on the floor. It took me months to heal. All I could think about was finding you again. Telling you what I never got a chance to say that night. I forgave you, even though… even though I’d never been more angry or hurt by another person in my life. When I found out that you’d replaced us with _Bedelia_ … Hannibal, I wanted to kill you.”

“I didn’t plan for her, Will,” he said softly. “I never planned for her to be by my side.”

“You _replaced_ me,” Will repeated, his voice wobbling. “Like I meant nothing. I find you in the Uffizi, drawing her and I like we are the same to you?”

“You are not the same as Bedelia,” Hannibal assured him breathlessly. “You are my equal, Will. The only one. Is she why you tried to kill me in the plaza?”

“I wasn’t trying to kill you, you asshole,” Will said venomously. “I wanted to _stab_ you. Maybe in your shoulder. Maybe in your side. I wanted you to hurt as much as I was hurting. I wanted you to know what it felt like for the person you love more than anything in this world to sink a fucking blade into you.”

Hannibal took a step forward, and Will took a cautious step back. “You loved me then, too?”

Will scoffed, and Molly whimpered behind them. Hannibal raised his hand that was clutching the scalpel, holding it out to Will. “You want to sink a blade in me? You want me to know what it’s like for the person I love most in the world to stab me? Go ahead, darling. It cannot hurt anymore than being without you for two years.”

Will’s breathing had grown erratic, and his eyes darted towards the blade briefly before looking back into Hannibal’s eyes. “Would you have really… eaten me, Hannibal?”

“Yes,” he said honestly. “I would have.” Will’s face shuttered closed at that, his shoulders slumping. “I would have been so devastated by my actions afterwards that I would likely have ended my own life.”

“You aren’t suicidal,” he said in disbelief.

“No,” he agreed. “Nor was I after you dismissed me two years ago. I still considered allowing myself to die of my infections. Fighting for the lonely life I’d found for myself did not seem worth it.”

Will swallowed thickly, glancing down again at the scalpel. Hannibal stepped forward, holding it out by the handle. Will took it slowly, weighing it in his palm once it was in his hand. 

It was silent, aside from Molly’s erratic breathing behind them. Will stepped into Hannibal’s space, and he could smell the salt of his sweat on his skin. The ocean in his hair. He smelled like sunscreen and sunshine, and Hannibal closed his eyes while breathing him in. Will raised the scalpel, his hand shaking while his eyes trailed over Hannibal’s body. The air was thick enough that Will could cut it with the scalpel while he decided where he’d penetrate Hannibal with it. 

“I can’t,” he whispered. “I _can’t_ , Hannibal.”

“Are you looking to cause me pain or serious injury?” he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.

“ _Pain_ ,” Will replied with conviction, raising the blade to just under Hannibal’s chin. 

“Here then,” Hannibal offered, pointing towards his shoulder. He pressed his fingers into the flesh, demonstrating where Will could press the blade. “There are many nerve endings here. It would likely never heal properly.”

Will seemed to consider it, trailing his eyes towards where Hannibal touched his own shoulder. He shook his head after another swallow. “No. Not there.”

Hannibal tilted his head, sliding his hand down his body slowly so as not to startle Will with any quick movements. His fingers pressed into his thigh, and he tapped the spot with two fingers. “There are no major blood vessels here,” he offered again. “It would hurt immensely, however. Even walking would hurt for months. Possibly years if you were to gouge the muscle.” He did not relish the thought of another wound in his leg that would cause him pain, but if it pleased Will enough to forgive him, then he'd suffer it.

Will’s bottom lip quivered, and he shook his head. “Not there, either.” A stray tear escaped his ocean eyes, and Hannibal gently wiped it from his cheek and brought the tear to his lips. It tasted of salt and Will’s skin, and Will’s mouth fell open.

“Here,” Hannibal said again, this time pressing into the meat of his chest over his right side. “If you do not go deep, you won’t hit my lung. It wouldn’t hurt for very long, but… it would be unpleasant enough.”

Will’s hand that wasn’t holding the scalpel moved towards his chest, pressing gently against the bulge of muscle that Hannibal had offered as payment. The heat of his fingers seared through Hannibal’s shirt, and he barely contained the sigh that fell from his lips in response. “I can’t,” Will whispered. “I don’t want to anymore.”

“Then what _do_ you want, Will?” Hannibal asked lowly. The fringe of his long bangs brushed the curls on Will’s forehead, their breath ghosting across one another’s faces. Hannibal could taste his breath, sweet and savory at the same time. He licked his lips at the thought, and Will’s eyes dipped towards his mouth briefly.

“Show me,” Will breathed. “Show me what caused the infection you wanted to die from.”

Of all the things Will could have asked for, he’d never imagined this. Will always managed to surprise him. He nodded once, then began unbuttoning his linen shirt. 

Will looked startled by it, and he stepped back one step to watch Hannibal remove his shirt. Will swallowed again as he tugged the material from his shoulders, and he turned his back to Will once it was off.

There was a sharp intake of breath from behind him, and Hannibal knew precisely how horribly the brand had healed. Even now, two years later, the amount of flesh that had to be scraped clean pained him. It was still red and shiny, the skin too thin in that spot. It no longer looked anything like a brand. Merely jagged, red, flesh that healed unevenly. “What was it?” Will asked, and Hannibal shivered when he felt Will’s fingertips gently trace the still-healing skin.

“Cordell branded me that night,” Hannibal said, glancing down at Molly who had gone into shock, most likely. Her face was white as a sheet while she watched them, her eyes and mouth wide in disbelief. “The brand got infected, which led to sepsis. Chiyoh had to scrape the wound clean.”

Hannibal turned back to Will, whose hand was still raised as though he were touching Hannibal’s back. He dropped his hand, tugging his lip between his teeth. Hannibal pulled his shirt back on, noting how Will’s eyes took in his bare chest. His workouts were clearly being appreciated, and he contained the grin that wanted to split his lips. 

Once it was buttoned back up, he leaned forward to roll his pantleg up. 

Will hissed when he saw his calf, which looked very much like a shark had taken a bite out of it. “The fuck happened?”

“Jack,” Hannibal replied, turning his leg carefully to show Will the extent of it. “This was the wound I considered allowing to fester. He put a hook through it in our fight in the museum. I had been so delirious with fever that I hadn’t realized it had become so infected. I scraped the infected tissue out once I had decided to live.”

“Does it hurt when you walk?” Will asked.

Hannibal nodded while straightening his pant leg, rising back up to his full height. “Always.”

Will watched him for a few moments, the air between them rife with promise. “You carried me all the way back to my house while you were suffering like that.”

“I had no choice. You had wounds that needed immediate attention.” He reached slowly for Will’s face, tipping his jaw to the side to see Cordell’s cut. It did not look like anything at all, and Hannibal was grateful. He smoothed his thumb over the skin regardless, then slid his fingers up into his soft curls to press them back from his forehead. 

The cut on his forehead had not healed as well, and it stood out on Will’s tanned face. A silver line, thin and uneven, and Hannibal gasped a breath. “I’m sorry, Will.”

“You should be,” Will replied, though the bite had left his voice some time ago. Hannibal’s fingers trailed down his face, sliding against his jaw softly. It had been so long since he’d allowed himself to touch him. So very long.

Will tugged his tee shirt up, and Hannibal’s gaze dipped down to his toned abdomen. His other scar stood out against his skin, bisecting his abdomen in a slightly curved line. Hannibal slid his hand from his jaw, down his chest, then against the soft skin of his stomach. He traced the line there as gently as he could, and Will shivered. “Does it cause you pain?” Hannibal wondered. 

Will shook his head, licking his lips. “Sensitive. I don’t… no one has touched it aside from you and I, and the doctors who fixed it.”

Hannibal dropped to his knees, wincing in pain as his calf stretched in a way that it no longer could. He gripped Will’s hips in his hands, and Will’s breath left him in a stutter. Hannibal leaned forward slowly, maintaining eye contact until he could not. His lips pressed against the scar, and he kissed it gently. Worshipfully. Will swallowed thickly while Hannibal pressed gentle kisses along the line of it until it had been apologized for in full. “Forgive me, Will.”

“I already did,” he sighed. “You’ve been forgiven for that for years, Hannibal.”

Hannibal came back to his feet, and he was surprised by the steady hand that gripped his bicep to help him. Will held his arm even as he stood, standing so closely to Hannibal that he could taste his breath again. “It’s too late for us,” he whispered.

“Never too late, Will,” he said just as softly. “I still love you. I’ll love you until I no longer draw breath.”

“I don’t trust you,” he said, though Hannibal could feel the fight leaving him even as he said it. 

“Trust will come with time,” Hannibal assured him. “I promise you that I’ll never hurt you again. Never, Will.”

Will’s eyebrows raised at that, as he knew precisely what it meant for Hannibal to promise something. “This is… _crazy_. I can’t, Hannibal. I can’t _do_ this.”

Hannibal sank his fingers into his sweat-damp curls, tugging the soft hair between his fingertips. Will took a steadying breath, seemingly relaxing into Hannibal’s very embrace. “Do you realize,” Hannibal said softly, watching the way Will’s pupils dilated as their noses dragged briefly. “That you’ve had the only weapon between us? You could have stopped this at any time.”

Will leaned away, glancing down at his hand that held the scalpel almost distractedly. “Do _you_ realize that you could have said all of this to me years ago, and we’d never have been here in the first place?” Will countered.

“I was not the kind of man that would say the things I’ve said today,” Hannibal admitted while sliding his fingers down again to cup his jaw. “I wish I was, but… it took two years for me to realize that my loneliness was due to pride.”

“Do you love Bedelia, too?” Will asked softly. 

Hannibal chuckled, and the glare from Will almost made him regret it. “I’ve only ever loved you, Will. I went to her home after that night in my kitchen. I thought she was out of the country, and I planned to use her empty home to shower and change, to gather my documents I’d need for travel. She came home while I was there. I brought her with me to keep her quiet, initially. She was not happy with me, Will. She thinks she has darkness in her, but it is not like our own.”

Will sucked in a breath, steadying himself with that information. “Do you realize how comfortably she lives? Writing books about you, lecturing about you. She flaunts her horror story as though she survived something, Hannibal. She owes you, and _you_ … you owe me.”

Pride flared through Hannibal like a bolt of lightning. He smiled widely, watching Will’s face closely. “Then you’ll have her, beloved.”

“What are we talking about right now?” Will asked, raising his eyebrows. “This is _insane_! We can’t… we can’t just pick up where we left off. We can’t just…”

“ _Go_ ,” Molly said from the bed. They turned to her, Will’s body tremoring from the sound of her voice. “Go, Will.”

He set the scalpel down on the dresser, moving around Hannibal to stand by the bed. Will looked devastated, while Molly… she looked terrified. It seemed she had learned of their intimacy while they reacquainted with one another, and the realization clearly struck her. She shook against the bed, carefully avoiding eye contact with Will at all costs. “Molly, I…”

“You’re not who I thought you were,” she said softly. Brokenly. “I don’t want you in my life. I don’t want you around my son. You’re sick, Will. _Sick_.”

Will flinched, crossing his arms around his chest to keep himself together. Hannibal fought the urge to soothe him. “I tried to tell you, but…”

“You’ve never tried to tell me _this_ ,” she said venomously. “You’ve never been honest with me about _anything_ , have you? Or is it that you’ve never been honest with yourself?”

“Both,” Will sighed, swiping another tear from his cheek. “I don’t want to be this person.”

“You _are_ this person,” she spat. “You’re the kind of man that leaves his fiancée tied up while reconnecting with an old flame. Had you _forgotten_ that I was in the room, you fucking asshole?”

His beloved hunched forward, gripping his abdomen as though he’d been stabbed. “I’m sorry. Molly, Jesus, I’m sorry.”

“Be honest with me,” she sobbed, swiping her tears against the pillow to clear them. “Be honest for the first fucking time in your life. Are you still in love with him? With a serial killer?”

Will raised his eyes to Hannibal, their watery, ocean depths trailing over him from head to toe. “Yes,” he said softly. He seemed to realize his response after a moment, and he covered his face in his hands. “Christ.”

“Were you _ever_ in love with me?” she asked in a small voice. It wobbled dangerously, and Hannibal watched Will’s reaction closely.

He pulled his face from his hands, his eyes puffy from the salt of his tears. “I wanted to be,” he sobbed. “I want to be.”

“But you’re not,” she realized, fresh tears pouring from her eyes. “You want to be because you want to prove that you’re a good man, but you’re not. What were you asking him, earlier? Are you going to hurt that woman because he shacked up with her in Italy? You’re going to hurt her because you’re jealous that she fucked him, and you didn’t? Are you fucking _kidding_ me?”

“Molly,” he said softly, an edge of warning there that made the hairs stand on Hannibal’s arms. “You don’t know what she is. She deserves…”

“Stop,” she spat. “You’ve never given me even a shred of the attention or affection that you’ve just given that… that fucking…”

“ _Careful_ ,” Hannibal said, raising her awareness that he was still in the room and would not tolerate her rudeness in the least.

She swallowed, turning her face towards him. “Are my son and I safe? Or are the two of you going to come back for me?”

Will shook his head, looking to Hannibal with a desperation in his eyes that begged for mercy. “We will never come back,” Hannibal told her honestly. “You’ll never see either of us again.”

“Good,” she replied, dropping her head back to the pillow. “Wally gets out of school in three hours. You’d better leave, then.”

Will brushed past him, heading towards the kitchen to fill a glass of water. When he returned, he reached for Molly, who flinched away from him immediately. “You should drink something,” Will said softly. “It’ll be a few hours before they come to see why you haven’t picked Walt up.”

He laced his fingers into her hair, lifting her head enough that she could drink without choking. She swallowed most of the glass, and he set it aside on the nightstand. “For what it’s worth,” Will told her softly, stroking his fingers through her hair and stirring jealousy in Hannibal’s gut. “I wanted to be good. For you. For Walt. I wanted to be better than I am.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” she asked, her voice like ice. “It doesn’t, Will.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. He straightened up, letting her go once and for all before reaching into the drawer of the nightstand. He pulled a sock from inside, rolling it into a ball and then pressing it into her mouth. Hannibal brought a cutting of rope to secure it behind her head, and she watched them with hard eyes, glaring hot between the both of them.

They left the house, leaving the door unlocked behind them. It would make it easier to get to her hours from now when help came to check on her. Will climbed into his car, gesturing towards the passenger side door. 

Hannibal climbed in, and they drove down the street. “I have my boat,” Will said finally, glancing at Hannibal with eyes so vacant they appeared haunted. “We can leave from the marina. I need a few things for it, it’s not well stocked.”

“We’re heading to Cuba,” he replied. “I have a home outside of Havana.”

Will nodded, shredding a cuticle between his teeth. “Two days,” he said distractedly. “It’ll take two days to get there from here. My water and gas tanks are full, but… all I have on board is canned goods.”

“Stop here, Will,” Hannibal said suddenly, causing Will to slam the breaks enough that the tires squeaked. Hannibal tossed him an exasperated look, and Will arched an eyebrow in question. “My rental,” he said, pointing towards his Toyota. “Let me grab my bag. Only one moment.”

He opened the backseat door, taking his leather duffel out to toss it into Will’s backseat. It had only the most basic of necessities, and it would be good enough for their trip to Cuba. Most importantly, it had his fake passport inside of it.

He’d been thoughtful enough to ensure that Will’s was in there from all those years ago as well. Thoughtful, and hopeful.

“There’s a small market at the end of the marina,” Hannibal recalled as he climbed back into the passenger seat. “We can get perishables there, I imagine.”

Will tossed a shocked look at him, cracking his first smile that Hannibal had seen in two years. “How long have you been watching me?”

“About a week,” Hannibal replied. “We have time, Will. Go to your house and get your dogs.”

Will flinched, turning to Hannibal with a blank expression. “I have six.”

“Yes,” he acknowledged. “We will have six. Go get them, beloved.”

They made a detour to his house, and Will packed a few things for himself as well as Hannibal while he was there. His fridge was stocked with fresh food, so he packed it away into grocery bags. Hannibal helped him by gathering his dog’s bowls, washing them out in the sink before packing them away.

Hannibal watched Will take his phone from his pocket and leave it on his counter, making it impossible for anyone to trace them with the device from this point on.

After a brief stop at a grocery store, they were at the docks. Hannibal helped Will untie his boat while Will removed the bumpers from the railing. They helped the dogs into the boat, and Will untied the sails. “I’m good out here,” Will told him, glancing at him briefly while readying their craft. “The fridge downstairs is off. If you don’t mind turning it on and getting the food in it?”

Hannibal hesitated, and Will noticed it. “I’m not going anywhere, Hannibal.”

The softness of his tone placated Hannibal enough that he nodded before heading below deck. It was a decent sized galley. Hot as the dickens, but livable. He opened the windows, then got the fridge on. The hot water tank was off, so Hannibal flipped the switch to get it running while he unpacked their meager groceries. 

He heard the boat motor kick on, then felt Will begin maneuvering her away from the dock. By the time he’d finished putting away the groceries and headed back above deck, Will was gliding her out of the marina. 

He stood by Will’s side, watching the horizon. “What have I done?” Will said softly. He turned his eyes towards Hannibal, a frown marring his face. “Why did you come? Why? After all this time.”

“Your engagement announcement,” Hannibal responded honestly. “I had to know, Will. I had to know if there was any possibility that you’d forgive me. I’ve missed you dearly.”

Will swiped at his tears, shaking his head as if in disbelief. “I looked for you,” he confessed softly. “After you left. I had to go to the hospital to be checked out, and they put a hold on me for a week because I was… nonverbal. I don’t even really know why, I just… had nothing to say. When I got out, I looked for you.”

“For Jack?” Hannibal wondered.

Will glared at him, but there was no heat in it. “For me. There were sightings of you everywhere, and I investigated all of them. There was a man in Michigan that said you stole his car, but… it wasn’t you, obviously. There was a family in Ireland that insisted you stole their horse, and while it made me fucking laugh to imagine you riding away on horseback, I knew it wasn’t you, either.”

“It was a good horse,” Hannibal teased, and Will’s vibrant laugh warmed him more than the sweltering heat of the sun. 

“Were you in Cuba the entire time?” Will asked.

“Yes,” he said softly. “I was… very sick for months. I could not even leave my bed.”

“Chiyoh helped you?” Will wondered, and Hannibal nodded. “It should have been me.”

“I would have preferred you,” Hannibal agreed, reaching out slowly to stroke the line of Will’s strong back. Will’s shoulders relaxed, and he leaned back minutely into the touch. “You’re here now.”

Will’s dogs milled around their feet, confused, but not nearly as uncomfortable as Hannibal would have assumed they’d be. He must take them out on the boat occasionally. “What have you been doing aside from working out?” Will asked, the corners of his mouth lifting in a small grin.

“That’s all I’ve been doing,” Hannibal laughed. “I survived what happened, but I have not been living.”

“I understand that completely,” Will agreed, glancing at Hannibal briefly before turning back towards the water. 

“I’ll get some water for your dogs,” Hannibal said eventually, turning away from Will after a comfortable silence. “Would you like something?”

“Water, please.”

Hannibal nodded, then headed below deck. It was marginally cooler with the breeze coming in from all the windows, and he filled a large bowl with water for the dogs, then took two water bottles from the fridge. They weren’t quite cold yet, but they’d be good enough. The boat swayed with the waves, and Hannibal’s leg felt like there was a knife in it while he tried to compensate for the boat’s movement.

It would be a long two days.

He headed back upstairs carefully, setting the bowl down while being mauled by six eager dogs that lapped at it the moment it was in reach. He laughed, ruffling Buster’s ears before hobbling over to Will to hand his water bottle off. 

Will was watching him, his golden brown curls catching the wind, his eyes like chipped ice in the late afternoon sunlight. He was always a beauty, and now was no different. “The hair isn’t horrible,” Will said eventually.

Hannibal laughed, opening his own bottle before sitting carefully on the galley bench on the side of the railing. “I won’t be doing it again,” he promised.

“You’re one of the only people in the world who looks better with your salt and pepper hair,” Will continued, his eyes still sitting like weights on Hannibal’s face. “I prefer it on you.”

Hannibal blushed, and Will looked startled to see something so ridiculous on Hannibal’s face. “Then I’ll allow this to fade out, yes?”

“Your leg bothers you more than you let on,” Will noted, and Hannibal had truly forgotten what it was like to be dissected by someone else like this. There was no fooling his beloved. He saw through Hannibal as though he were transparent. 

“It bothers me endlessly, yes,” he said softly. “There were a few weeks where I was certain I was going to lose the leg entirely, but I was lucky.”

“Lucky,” Will repeated dryly. “I wouldn’t say luck has been kind to either of us.”

“We make our own luck,” Hannibal conceded. “If I would have dealt with the infection when I first noticed it, it would not have gotten to this point. I did not, and I paid for it.”

“Chiyoh didn’t notice?” he asked, his tone implying resentment towards her for her assumed neglect.

He shook his head. “I… was mute for a time. A year or so. I communicated in only the most basic gestures, and she stayed only long enough to bring groceries and check my back.”

Will raised an eyebrow at that, tugging his lip between his teeth. “Why didn’t you speak?”

“Shock,” Hannibal shrugged. “After Mischa died, I was mute for two years. It’s apparently something I do when I feel…”

“Traumatized,” Will finished for him, and Hannibal nodded. “We’re more alike than I realize, sometimes.”

Buster waddled over to Hannibal, going up on his hind legs for some attention. He smiled, reaching down to tug the little chubby beast up onto the bench with him. Buster wagged his tail so hard that his hips swayed, nuzzling into Hannibal’s lap enthusiastically. “They’ve missed you.”

Hannibal glanced up from the ecstatic dog, rubbing his belly while looking back at Will. His face was soft, a gentle smile curving his mouth. “I’m sorry about Ellie, Will.”

Will flicked his eyes away at that, chewing his poor bottom lip again. “Her hips bothered her less here,” he recalled, a small frown marring his mouth again. “I was so happy for her because she finally moved around like it didn’t hurt her to do it. Then she stopped eating, and… well, that was that.”

“You gave her a good life,” Hannibal assured him. “You’ve given them all good lives.” He looked down at Buster again, whose head was in his lap, belly facing skyward. His tongue lolled out of his mouth, and a snore cut through the air. Hannibal laughed, rubbing his belly gently.

“Thank you for… letting me have them,” Will said softly, drawing Hannibal’s eyes up again. 

“You may have as many as you please,” Hannibal offered. “We could open a sanctuary.”

Will laughed, tipping his head back and exposing the long column of his throat. His teeth glinted in the late afternoon sunlight, and Hannibal memorized him to draw later. “Six is enough,” he chuckled. “Maybe at some point there will be more, but…”

He paused, and Hannibal raised an eyebrow. “But?” The smile left Will’s lips as he came to some revelation, and Hannibal sat up in his seat, jostling Buster who grunted at the movement. “What is it?”

“I was going to say, ‘I’m happy’,” Will said slowly, turning his eyes back to Hannibal’s in disbelief. “Because right now, I really am.”

Hannibal gave him a slow smile in response, relaxing back into his seat. “As am I, darling.” The reality of what he’d done seemed to settle in, and he watched the plague that was Will’s conscience tear him apart. “Someone will have found her by now,” Hannibal assured him. “She will recover from this. She’s very strong.”

“Did you have to torment her?” Will asked miserably. 

“I was jealous,” Hannibal admitted, glancing away from Will to give him some space. “I hated her for touching you. For being with you. For earning your affection. I did not hurt her, Will.”

“There was blood on her throat,” Will recalled, glancing at Hannibal again for an explanation. 

“She was… taunting me with something,” Hannibal admitted somewhat reluctantly. “Not my finest moment, but I never meant to hurt her.”

“The shit she heard me say to you,” Will sighed, swiping a hand across his face. “How the fuck did I forget she was there? It’s like… I have tunnel vision when it comes to you. Always have.”

“It’s not easy allowing someone you love to see you fully,” Hannibal agreed. The motor cut out sharply, and Will stalked over to him to stand close enough that their knees brushed. 

“Does everything you say have to be a dig in some way?” Will retorted. 

Hannibal raised his eyes up in defiance, tipping his head. “It was not meant as a dig, Will. It was merely the truth.”

He watched Will’s Adam’s apple bob; his eyes hard as steel as they regarded Hannibal. “I never turned you away because of who you are,” Will said evenly. “I turned you away because I couldn’t live like that anymore.”

“I know,” Hannibal conceded. He reached out and linked their fingers gently, smoothing his thumb against Will’s work-roughened knuckles. “I don’t want to live that way anymore, either.”

“How do you want to live, then?” he asked softly, finally responding to the touch by lacing his fingers through Hannibal’s own.

“With you,” he replied honestly. “I want your company. I want evenings with you in our study. I want early mornings with you on our patio. I want weekends by the pool or the ocean. I only want you, Will. I wish I’d have been honest with you about that from the beginning, but I cannot change what I’ve done. I can only change what I say and do in the future, and I want you to know that I plan to.”

“You haven’t killed anyone since Mason’s farm, have you?” Will asked softly. Hannibal shook his head, and Will swallowed. “Jesus, Hannibal.”

“I don’t really know why,” Hannibal shrugged. “It may have to do with being a recluse. No one offends me when I see no one at all. Although Chiyoh has become rather acerbic in her time with me. She doesn’t offend me, however.”

Will’s hand cupped his cheek, and Hannibal went completely still as he trailed his thumb across the small scar there from Jack all those years ago. “I want everything with you, Hannibal,” he said, his voice holding so much emotion that Hannibal’s eyes welled against his will. “Everything you want, and more.”

“Anything,” Hannibal promised him, cupping Will’s hand where it held his cheek. “Everything.”

Will leaned forward, and Hannibal felt the barest brush of soft lips against his temple before his beloved went back to the captain’s seat. Hannibal swallowed, feeling as unmoored as the boat beneath his feet. Will readied the sails, and then they were sailing forward.


	4. Chapter 4

Hannibal went below deck to begin dinner for them shortly afterwards. Neither of them had lunch, and he was feeling hunger pangs by the time he began cooking. The steady breeze through the window kept it bearable, but it was still beyond hot in the cabin. Sweat rolled down his back, and he swiped at the sweat on his brow with a towel while working. Will came down with his dogs as the sun was setting, huffing a breath. “You didn’t turn on the air conditioning?”

Hannibal paused while plating two filets of salmon and jasmine rice, looking up at Will with a raised eyebrow. “You have air conditioning?”

Will laughed, heading to a narrow closet by the galley door. He opened it and pressed a few buttons on a small white panel there. A low hum kicked on, and Will closed the cabinet before going around and closing the windows. “I lived in Florida,” Will said through a chuckle while wiping sweat from his brow. “Of _course_ there’s air conditioning.”

Hannibal set their plates down at the small dinette, and each mopped sweat from their foreheads while waiting for the room to cool down. “It smells good,” Will smiled, cutting into his fish and tugging the fork between his lips. Hannibal watched him closely, as it had been far too long since he’d enjoyed Will’s company for dinner. The low hum of delight stirred Hannibal, and he smiled. “Wow,” he grinned. “I’ve missed your cooking.”

"As I've missed cooking for you, beloved," he admitted with a gentle smile. 

The room cooled as they ate, and even the dogs seemed happier once it was no longer sweltering. Hannibal took their plates, moving to stand without thought and his leg pinched as the boat rocked the opposite direction with a wave. He sat back down immediately, closing his eyes while gritting his teeth. 

Roughened hands grasped his wrists, then slid down to take the plates from his hands. Hannibal opened his eyes to find Will watching him, concern written plainly on his face. “Let me,” he offered. 

Hannibal despised being pitied, and he especially hated being treated as though he were weak. He considered arguing. Perhaps taking the plates from Will’s hands and ignoring his request entirely when Will continued. “You cooked. You always let me clean up when you cook.”

A smile tugged the corners of his mouth upwards, and he nodded hesitantly. “You’re the only one I allow to do such a thing.”

Will flashed him a teasing little grin, taking the plates to the small sink at the island. “Wash a few plates?” he laughed.

“See signs of weakness,” Hannibal admitted, stretching his leg out carefully under the table. He glanced around the space again, this time taking note of a few things at once. There was only a full-sized bed in the open living area. No bunk beds or anything else. He scrutinized the dinette, trying to decide if the table could somehow turn into a bed like in some campers he’d seen. It did not seem like it.

“Has my kitchenette offended you somehow?” Will laughed.

Hannibal’s eyes darted up to find Will watching him while scrubbing at a pan, his mouth curved in a gentle smile. “No,” he said after looking his fill of the younger man. “Is that the only bed down here?”

“Ah,” Will realized, flicking his eyes to the unreasonably small bed. “It is.”

“So where did the child sleep when you’d take the boat out?” Hannibal wondered, bitterness creeping into his voice against his will.

Will’s shoulders stiffened while washing the rest of the dishes, and he wiped down the counters around the small sink almost aggressively. “We never took the boat out for trips that took longer than a day. We’d go to a different Key, or just out fishing. Molly… she didn’t really love the boat, anyway.”

“But you do,” Hannibal realized. 

He nodded, glancing up at Hannibal briefly. “We’re sinking it, so it doesn’t matter how I feel about it.”

Hannibal glanced up in surprise, staring at Will for a moment until the younger man looked up at him. “Why would we sink it?”

“Molly knows this boat,” Will explained, moving around the counter to lean against the island. “She has photos of it, she knows its name. There will be photos of it at every marina and every news outlet within hours. We won’t get off the dock without being found, Hannibal. When we get close enough, we’ll wait until nightfall and then I’ll sink her. Take an axe to the floor, something. We can take the lifeboat to shore.”

“I will get you another boat, Will,” he said softly, silently immensely pleased at the thought that Will had put into it. While this boat served its purpose, the next one that Hannibal would get him would be the boat of Will’s dreams. Anything he wanted, Hannibal would get him.

“How are you surviving so well, by the way? It doesn’t sound like you’re working, and I know the FBI cleared your accounts.”

Hannibal smiled, leaning back against the bench of the dinette. “They cleared some,” he agreed. “Not anywhere close to all of them, however.”

Will smiled at that, rolling his eyes affectionately. “I’m going to… uh, shower,” he said after a comfortable silence. “I’ve got motor grease and sweat caked on me.”

“I think I’ll do the same when you’re finished,” Hannibal agreed. Will nodded, then moved around the cabin to gather a change of clothes for himself. Once he was ensconced in the small bathroom, Hannibal hobbled around the kitchen, feeding dry kibble to Will’s dogs and giving them fresh water. Will had insisted on dry food for them during the trip, as Winston and Jack tended to get seasick. 

Hannibal crept up the stairs to the main deck, settling out on the bench to look at the stars. They were incredible this far from land, the faint greenish hue of the milky way streaking the sky. It was pitch black for as far as the eye could see all around him, and Hannibal finally understood how Will’s little house in Wolf Trap would have looked to him in a field of darkness. Their little boat was the only light for miles. 

The cabin door creaked open, and a herd of happy dogs came out, nails clicking against the wooden deck. Will emerged behind them, a cloud of clean skin and mint-scented, wet, curls. His clean white tee shirt stuck to him from the dampness of his shower, and he slumped to Hannibal’s side on the bench.

His face was tipped upwards, the long column of his throat on display. Under the moonlight, his skin looked far less tan and more like alabaster. His hair was darker because it was wet, and in that moment, he looked exactly as he did two years ago in Wolf Trap.

Nostalgia panged in Hannibal at the sight of him. The same and entirely different. His fingers itched to touch him as they always did in his presence, and Will turned his face to him. His eyes were wide and dark, expression entirely open. “You know I’m aware of you when you’re… looking,” he teased.

He didn’t bother to look away now. His eyes still traveled Will’s profile. The sharp cut of his jaw that was lined in stubble. The strong bulge of bicep where it stretched the extraordinarily small tee shirt he was wearing. “Have you always been?”

“Aware?” Will asked with a smile, and Hannibal nodded. “Maybe not when we’d first met, but… eventually, yeah. I was aware.”

Silence settled between them, and Hannibal leaned into him with his shoulder a bit. Just to touch him in some way. Just to share contact. It was hardly anything, but it felt like more than he’d ever imagined he would have. “Were you aware of me?” Will asked softly, his throat constricting with a swallow. “Looking?” he elaborated.

Hannibal’s eyes widened, and he shook his head. “You never did,” he said adamantly, his mind flicking through their encounters to find anything that would suggest that Will was telling him the truth. 

“Oh, I did,” Will laughed. It was a low and gravelly sound, rumbling in his chest more than it was an actual noise. “It took a long time for me to sort out why. Initially, I thought I was just endlessly fascinated by your ridiculous suits,” he laughed again, and even Hannibal cracked a smile at that. “Then I thought that maybe it was just… your face. It’s so unlike other people’s faces. You don’t look like anyone else in the world, Hannibal.”

“Should I be offended?” Hannibal wondered, finally allowing his hand to travel the warm expanse of his back. Will relaxed into the touch, and he bravely trailed them higher, allowing them to sink into soft, damp, curls. 

“No,” he sighed, tipping his head back to encourage Hannibal to continue. “I think you’re beautiful. It took me a long time to admit that to myself, but… I do.”

“You prefer women,” Hannibal acknowledged, yet his fingers continued massaging the nape of Will’s neck, stirring the mint scent of his curls into the air. 

“I prefer you,” Will admitted, glancing at Hannibal carefully. “That took a long time to admit, too. It’s… stupid. It shouldn’t have mattered, but… it did. The night that I kissed Alana, it wasn’t so much a clutch for balance as a grab for my questioned sexuality.”

Hannibal stilled his fingers and his breath, staring at Will as though he were speaking a language he did not understand. “You kissed her because…”

“Because my feelings for you were confusing,” Will said softly, staring resolutely out towards the stars. They reflected in his ocean eyes; entire galaxies lost in their depths. “I drove to your house, and I still don’t know why I did that. I just… wanted to see you. I always wanted to see you, then.”

“And now?” Hannibal asked softly.

“Even now,” Will smiled, dropping his eyes from the heavens to rest them on Hannibal’s face. “You’ve changed me. Christ, in every way that a person can be changed.”

“I wish I’d have realized sooner,” Hannibal lamented, turning his eyes upward, as he no longer felt that he deserved to look at Will the way that he was.

“I looked up at the night sky often. Orion above the horizon and, near it, Jupiter. I wondered if you could see it, too. I wondered if our stars were the same,” Will said softly, his gaze turned towards Orion where it hung in the sky.

“I believe some of our stars will always be the same,” he admitted, making Will smile hesitantly. 

They sat for a few more minutes when the mood was interrupted by Winston relieving himself on the deck. Will sighed through a chuckle, and Hannibal removed his fingers from Will’s hair. “Go shower,” Will offered. “I’m going to clean up, and then I’ll be downstairs.”

Hannibal nodded, then stood as gracefully as he could manage to head downstairs. 

His shower was blissful, despite being in such cramped quarters. By the time he finished, he smelled of Will; mint shampoo and clean soap. He usually slept in his underwear, but he wore cotton pajama pants for Will’s sake.

When he emerged, Will was settling his dogs around the cabin with a few folded blankets that seemed to be for that purpose, and he gestured towards the bed. “You can take it, Hannibal.”

“And where will you sleep?” Hannibal asked softly. “You need your rest. It’s big enough for the both of us.”

Will raised his eyebrows skeptically, but they both made their way towards the bed. Will climbed in first, then Hannibal eased himself around Will’s body as best he could, avoiding touching as much as possible.

It was mostly unavoidable, and Will laughed when Hannibal unintentionally dug his elbow into Will’s side. “Let me,” Will laughed, maneuvering around until they were settled comfortably on their sides, facing one another. They were close enough that their breath ghosted across one another’s faces, still minty from brushing their teeth. Their elbows still pressed against one another, and they stared at one another in disbelief of their situation. 

Will clicked off the lamp overhead, and darkness settled over them. Hannibal’s eyes eventually adjusted, and the moonlight spilling through the window cast Will’s face in shadow. His beloved was still looking at him, and he wondered what Will saw while his eyes danced across his face. “What did Molly say to you?” he asked softly. One of his calloused hands came up to settle against his cheek again, his thumb stroking against the scar that Jack had left him. “When you accidentally cut her. What did she say to taunt you?”

Hannibal swallowed, closing his eyes from the sight of Will so close to him. His gut stirred, and he warred with himself. “Will,” he sighed, and the other man gripped his face a little tighter, urging his eyes back open.

“Tell me,” he pleaded.

“She told me that I was just jealous of her,” he said so softly it was barely a whisper. Will leaned in close to hear him, his thumb stroking against his cheek soothingly. “That she knew what you tasted like,” Will’s eyes widened, and Hannibal continued. “That she knew how you shivered after you came, your scent. That she knew you that way, and I never would.”

“She…” Will’s mouth worked for a moment, his eyes hardening slightly. “She did not.”

“She did,” he said, closing his eyes again to hide from the scrutiny of Will’s intense gaze.

He felt the bed shift against him, and suddenly Will’s elbow was resting more weight against his chest. The scent of Will’s skin intensified, and Hannibal cracked his eyes open to find Will leaning over him, close enough that his curls dragged over his forehead. “It upset you to hear that.”

“No,” Hannibal lied, glancing down at Will’s lips that were damp enough to catch the moonlight. “I have all I’ve wanted, Will. I don’t need more.”

“If Bedelia had said something like that to me in Italy,” Will said softly, his voice gone flat and dangerous. Hannibal opened his eyes to find Will’s own memorizing his face, his fingers stroking his cheek gently. “I would have killed her in front of Jack.”

“You’d never have forgiven me,” Hannibal said just as softly, and Will tipped his head. 

“I’m beginning to think that I’d forgive you anything.” His fingers continued stroking Hannibal’s cheek, and he found the courage to reach up and touch Will in return. “We should stop testing that theory, though.”

His cheek was soft above the growth of his stubble. Even the roughness of it felt good against Hannibal’s fingers. Will invaded his senses, the scent of him clean and salty where the ocean clung to his skin. His beloved leaned forward slowly, tilting his jaw upward, his nose skimming against Hannibal’s hair. He felt the stir of his breath, Will inhaling gently against his temple. His nose skimmed against his forehead, then his own, their mouths barely an inch apart. Damp breath ghosted across Hannibal’s face, and he fought the urge to close his eyes.

He wanted to see this. He wanted to be able to recall it perfectly, should it never happen again. Will’s eyes were fathomless, dilated enough that only a sliver of ocean iris surrounded their blackened depths. Hannibal waited. He allowed the moment to expand and linger, reveling in the heady promise of Will’s proximity. He’d waited a long time for this, and waiting a few more seconds to bask in Will’s attention was a very small price to pay. 

Will’s eyes held his as he closed the distance between them, his sweet, parted mouth covering Hannibal’s own. It was a gentle, chaste, kiss. Completely unlike anything Hannibal had ever allowed himself to imagine between the two of them. Hannibal laced his fingers through Will’s curls at the back of his head, keeping his mouth against his own. His beloved did not seem inclined to go anywhere, though.

Will’s own fingers trailed to his hair, gripping his jaw as well as the nape of his neck. His eyes fluttered closed, his head tipping slightly as he pressed his mouth more firmly. Hannibal finally allowed himself to return the kiss, his mouth parting enough that Will’s bottom lip slipped between his own. He suckled the soft flesh of it, and a gentle moan rumbled from Will’s throat. 

Mouths parted more, and he felt Will’s tongue trace his bottom lip hesitantly, as though the ridiculous man thought Hannibal may not want such a thing. He gripped Will’s curls tighter, their tongues meeting for the first time almost shyly. He tasted sweet, the wet glide of Will’s tongue licking boldly against his own. 

Hannibal’s mind felt as though it were going a million directions at once. He could scarcely believe this was happening, all the while trying to catalogue each response, each noise, each flavor. His fingers shook where they were buried in Will’s hair, and his breathing grew erratic enough that Will pulled away, allowing him to breathe between gentle, lapping kisses. 

Will’s hand grew bolder, stroking against his jaw, his neck. Weaving into his hair to keep him where he was, as though Hannibal would ever pull away from him in this moment. In _any_ moment.

Their mouths sipped at one another, occasionally opening enough to taste the inside of one another’s mouths. Will licked against every surface; his teeth, his tongue, the roof of his mouth. His beloved kissed him as though he were trying to devour him, and Hannibal returned his vigor.

His own tongue traced the blunt edges of his teeth, finding the tiny fangs of his incisors. The roof of his mouth was uneven, and Hannibal wanted to know its texture by heart. He plucked at Will’s lips with his teeth, memorizing their softness and sweetness by biting down on them gently. The plushness of them rivaled anything Hannibal could recall in memory. 

They kissed for so long that Will’s mouth no longer tasted any differently than his own, and Hannibal was profoundly aroused by that thought. His own lips were not ignored, as Will seemed entirely fascinated by his top lip. Will tugged at it with blunt teeth, suckling it between his lips until it felt swollen and abused by the attention.

By the time they parted, their eyes opened to regard one another through damp lashes, their heavy breath mingling between them. Will did not retreat entirely. He stayed close, his forehead resting comfortably against Hannibal’s while his fingers twirled in his hair at the nape of his neck. Will’s mouth was red and puffy, entirely too inviting for its own good, so Hannibal leaned forward again to kiss him chastely.

He was moved by Will’s affection. So much that his eyes watered embarrassingly, and he averted them towards Will’s throat to hide the tears that threatened to fall. There was no hiding from him, though. Will tipped his jaw up, his own glassy eyes searching Hannibal’s face for a moment before he leaned forward and kissed each of Hannibal’s eyelids, catching the salt of his tears on his petal soft lips.

He did not stop there, as his lips trailed open-mouthed kisses to each cheekbone, his tongue darting out to trace the small line of scarring from Jack all those years ago. Will’s hand fisted into his hair, tugging his head back enough that he could kiss down the slope of his cheek, then his jaw. His mouth parted around his chin, flicking the skin there with his tongue. “I expected you’d be the one doing what I’m doing,” Will said between exploratory kisses. 

Hannibal swallowed, tilting his head back while his beloved sucked his Adam’s apple between his lips. “I can hardly believe this is happening,” he confessed breathlessly. “I don’t know what I want to do aside from allow you anything you want.”

“I want you to touch me,” Will said between gentle suckles against his throat. “Like I’m touching you.” Will bravely released Hannibal’s hair, trailing his hand hesitantly down his throat, then his sternum. He wove his fingers through his chest hair, and Hannibal reacted.

He gripped the soft curls at the nape of Will’s neck and pressed his mouth against Will’s own in a demanding kiss that curled his toes in the cool sheets. His beloved moaned into the cavern of his mouth, and Hannibal rolled them gently so that Will’s head rested on his pillow, Hannibal leaning over his prone form. He did not want to alarm Will with his body’s reaction to him, so he kept his hips pointed away as he licked down the unbearably soft column of his throat. 

His neck had been a source of endless fascination for Hannibal since he’d met him. The delicate pale skin that covered deceptively strong muscle and tendon taunted him. He suckled just under his ear, biting down on him gently. His fingers found courage to leave Will’s hair, trailing down the side of his neck, then the curve of his strong shoulder. He found the sleeve of his tee shirt, pressing his fingers under the material that was already enticingly stretched around the girth of his bicep. His skin was like hot silk against his fingertips, and Hannibal trailed his mouth down further. 

He latched onto his Adam’s apple, flattening his tongue against it as it bobbed deliciously. Will’s head was tipped back in a wanton invitation to continue, so Hannibal did. He trailed his mouth to the other side of his throat, sucking and biting the skin there until he was sure it was as marked by his mouth as the other side. 

Will’s fingers had not left his chest or his hair yet, and he gripped the hair at the back of Hannibal’s head, urging his mouth back up to his own. Hannibal’s lips felt numb from kissing, their mouths dragging lazily while their tongues reacquainted. 

It was the single most heavenly experience Hannibal had ever had in his life. He pulled away eventually, as his mouth felt so bruised and bitten that he needed a moment to get feeling back in them. Will looked utterly debauched under him. His lips were dark and swollen, his eyes entirely eaten away by his pupils. His curls were completely wild from Hannibal’s fingers, his neck blooming bruises even in the dark of the cabin. 

Will kept him close by gripping the nape of his neck, his eyes sweeping and cataloguing Hannibal’s face in turn. A gentle smile lifted the corners of his bruised mouth, and he trailed a finger across Hannibal’s sore top lip approvingly. “Beautiful,” he said softly.

Hannibal leaned forward again to kiss him very gently, as their mouths were far too sore and abused to venture much further. Will encouraged him to lay down, and he did so, moving exactly where Will wanted him.

He settled out against Will’s chest, wrapping his arm around his ribcage while Will’s slid under his neck to hold his back. The heat of his palm rested squarely over the wound there, and he touched it so gently it almost felt like a tickle. “Am I hurting you?” he asked softly. Hannibal basked in the fact that he could feel his voice rumble in his chest as much as hear it, and he nuzzled further into him, inhaling the clean laundry scent of his tee shirt as well as his skin underneath. 

“No,” he promised while rubbing against Will’s chest like a cat.

Will squeezed him once in return, his breathing evening out as they lay silently for a few minutes. Will’s fingers didn’t quite seem to know where to settle, as they continued dragging against his back, his shoulder, then his hair again. No one had touched him like this in years. Even Bedelia was not the kind of lover that gave unnecessary affection, not that Hannibal would have welcomed it from her, regardless. Alana could be sweet on occasion, but it never felt like this. Nothing in his life had ever felt like this. 

These last two years, he’d lived entirely in a prison of his own making.

He pressed against Will more fully, wincing as his erection accidentally brushed against Will’s hip. He stilled, silently terrified that Will would be offended by it. He inched his hips back slightly, and Will laughed. “There is nothing to be ashamed about,” Will chuckled. “Can you smell me, Hannibal?”

The truth of it was that Hannibal had not smelled him. He’d been entirely absorbed by the taste and texture of Will against his tongue, so his mind had been a bit preoccupied. Now that Will asked it, the tang of him teased Hannibal’s nostrils, and he scented the air with his mouth gently parted. Will’s arousal was a bit different than his own, the scent of it almost heavier in a way. It reminded Hannibal of the scent after an intense rainstorm, heady and intoxicating. The kind of smell that you could almost taste in the back of your throat.

He wished that were the case, in this instance. “I can,” he admitted eventually. Will’s heartbeat picked up enough that Hannibal felt it under his palm, and he smiled against his chest. “I do not want you to feel pressured, however.”

The rumble of Will’s laughter was accentuated by a gentle kiss to his temple, and Will held him closer still. “Pressured,” he repeated through a laugh. “I want to know you this way, Hannibal. More than that, I want you to know me this way, too. There won’t be any barriers between us. I’m not hiding from you anymore.”

Hannibal felt… suspicious about that. He’d been burned by Will’s promises in the past, and Hannibal knew that his affection for Will often clouded his judgement. “I don’t want it if you’re doing it to placate me,” he said softly. “What she said to me should have no bearing on… our intimacy.”

“Didn’t even think of her, so,” Will sighed. “What crossed my mind was that what she said to you went both ways. I thought of Bedelia, actually. How she knew what you tasted like. She knows what sounds you make when you come. It pissed me off because I should know you like that. Has… has there been anyone since her?”

Warmth spread through Hannibal’s gut with the admission of his jealousy, and he tipped his face up to press a kiss under his jaw. “There has been no one since her, Will.” The small part of Hannibal that liked to test people’s loyalty was throbbing in need of reassurance, and he considered his words carefully. “When was the last time you were intimate with Molly?”

He felt Will’s breath stutter in his chest, and he waited. Hannibal knew the answer was Saturday. Two nights ago. The thought alone made Hannibal want to scream and claw Will open until he could live inside of him, but he remained still and silent, waiting. 

“Here I am, being a possessive asshole over someone you slept with two years ago,” Will sighed, squeezing his shoulder gently. “It doesn’t matter when, Hannibal. I’m here now, and you’re the only one who will see me like that again.” 

Hannibal frowned at his deflection, tugging his sore bottom lip between his teeth. He waited, silent and green with jealousy, and Will sighed again. “Saturday. Christ, I’m sorry.”

Verbal confirmation of what he knew should have assured him, as he knew Will was at least being truthful. For some reason, it did not. The acrid tang of Will’s embarrassment tinged the air, and Hannibal felt the need to placate him. “You didn’t call her name even once.”

“ _What_?” he said immediately while his heart hammered under Hannibal’s palm. “Jesus fucking Christ, were you… were you _there_?” Hannibal stayed silent, and Will tensed even further under him. “Did you hear us? Did you ask me that to see if I’d fucking lie to you?”

Hannibal pulled away from him enough that they were only touching where Will’s arm rested under his body, and he stared down at his beloved in contrition. “Yes,” he replied honestly, and Will closed his eyes for a beat. 

“I want to punch you in your face right now,” he said softly, his tone belying the violence of his words. “I want to, but… I get it. If I had… seen or heard you with Bedelia, I would have… tortured myself with it. It’s still creepy, Hannibal. _Jesus_ ,” he sighed, swiping his free hand against his face.

“If I’d have heard you making love to her,” Hannibal said softly, reaching up to stroke the strong line of his jaw briefly. “I would have left. If you’d have called her name or seemed even remotely in love with her, I’d have gone back to Cuba and you’d never have known I was there.”

His beloved frowned while looking up at him, his bruised bottom lip tugged between his teeth. “So you tested me?” he asked eventually. “Without me even realizing I was being tested.”

“Should that still surprise you?” Hannibal asked.

“I guess it shouldn’t,” Will conceded with a long sigh. “It has to stop. If you… if you want to know something, you need to ask. This shit is not acceptable, Hannibal. Don’t set me up to fail anymore. I’m finally with you because I want to be. I am here because there is no where I’d rather be. If you’re going to keep manipulating me and testing me like this, we’re going to end up right back where we were, and I don’t fucking want that. So stop, please.”

Hannibal swallowed thickly, remorse and contrition warring for dominance inside of him. “I promise you, Will,” he said softly. “It’s not in my nature to trust another implicitly, but I’ll try.”

“Do better than try,” Will said gruffly while tugging him back down to snuggle against him. “Do better.”

He held Will tighter, hearing the faint little huff of his breath as it was squeezed from his body. Silence settled between them for a few minutes, and Will eased his fingers back into his hair. “Even though it’s your fault for being a peeping Tom,” Will said quietly, “I’m still sorry you heard it. You _did_ only hear it, right? Please tell me you weren’t in the house.”

“I only heard it,” Hannibal assured him. “It was more than enough to torture me until I perish.”

Will snorted, holding him tighter in response. “I’d forgotten how dramatic you can be,” he chuckled. “I promise you that at some point, you’ll forget. Just like I know already that at some point, I’ll forget about Bedelia. In ten years, when you and I are still like this, no one will haunt us, Hannibal.”

Hannibal liked the sound of that more than he cared to admit, and he hummed in agreement while pressing a kiss against Will’s chest.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is for KamRaeTay, who consistently and ALWAYS leaves me the kindest words, and the most heartfelt comments. There are so many of you that constantly leave such touchingly sweet things, and you are ALL so god damned appreciated. Thank you guys. <333


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